Gold Lock, Silver Hook, Scarred Hearts
by Margo Vizzini-Montoya
Summary: A tale of antiheroes – a charming rogue and a dodgy damsel and their coat-and-dagger adventures. Post-Neverland. AU
1. Chapter i: Broken

**_Gold Lock, Silver Hook, Scarred Hearts_**

******A/N: **This is a character-development story set in Storybrooke with flashbacks to the Enchanted Forest. It was plotted and started in the beginning of Season 3a. I am pro-Captain Swan, but my mind began to wonder what-if...? And so a what-happens-to-Hook-after-Neverland-if-Emma-chooses-Neal story was born. And because I firmly believe anti-heroes deserve happy endings, I found a non-heroic fairy-tale female to be his friend(?). So enjoy...

**Disclaimer: **Don't own, but truly love to play with : )

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**Chapter i:**

**Broken**

_Storybrooke_

_May 13, 2012_

_8:12pm_

Gwen McKinley pulled the hood of her jacket farther down, covering her distinctive pink hair. Hair that had been dyed in a fit of rebellious peak and without thought to any consequences – consequences like being noticed by the nosy stiffs of this gods-forsaken town. Highly inconvenient when one is trying to break into a vacant building for the night.

Slipping through the gap in the pine board fence, surrounding the aging Victorian house, she considered the bright side of possibly spending yet another night in the clink – she would get fed a hot meal on the public's dime, instead of the filched chicken salad sandwich from the Herman fridge. But that was a rather short-term thinking. Long-term, she was twenty-one and no longer eligible for the grace and mercy that is extended to juvenile delinquents. And with Sheriff Graham dead and no longer able to 'lose her paperwork' in exchange for community service hours at the shelter, Mrs. Boyd, her slave-driving boss of Boyd's Domestics, would fire her ass.

No job on top of no home and a criminal record was not something she was keen on burdening herself with.

She was half-way in the house via the formerly boarded up basement window, when she felt it – The Pulse.

And then she tumbled through, landing in a tangled heap on the hard and cold concrete floor as the memories rushed through her mind like an Oz-Kansas tornado, a mixture of Technicolor and black-and-white.

_The abbey. Her sweet mother's sickly pale body laid out for interment._

_The mausoleum. Her valiant father's armor-bedecked body, honored for his service and sacrifice for the King._

_A Victorian house in its youth, surrounded by orderly gardens. China teas with a lonely motherless girl. Irish teas and fob watch and charm for a sad lonely father._

_The austere but stately Spencer residence with its very own trophy room. James Spencer: All American athlete. James Spencer: Princeton's MVP…2002, 2003, 2004… _

_The hatred and rejection and scorn of those she would call her kin and her people._

_A citadel of stone and bitterness. Towers and turrets. Maidens and maids. Guards and secrets. Schedules and habits. Tick tock. Flashing steel and provocative words. _

_Madame Mayor's papered forest walls and pristine kitchen._

_Trees, fog, and more trees. A lodge. Elk horns. Bear heads. Wolf fangs. Angry men with filthy paws and minds. A man in black with a flinty stare._

_The richly furnished and carpeted but empty and barely lived in Jefferson Mansion. A dust bunny's dream._

_Herman's Realty: For Sale. The 'haunted' duplex. The fixer-upper ranch house. The aging Victorian. Rinse Repeat for twenty-eight years._

Once the furniture had quit falling to the ceiling in her mind, Gwen-who-was-not-Gwen began to cry, great big dry hacking sobs. The Curse was broken, but no one would be looking for her and she had no one to look for, Child of the Wilderness that she was.

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**A/N: **Hook next chapter, promise.


	2. Chapter 1: The Definition of a Friend

**Disclaimer: **Don't own and have no power over, so...long live fanfiction.

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**Chapter 1:**

**The Definition of a Friend**

_"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." – Groucho Marx_

~0~

_Storybrooke_

_Present..._

Killian Jones and his motley crew had been back from Neverland for three weeks, and Emma Swan already had him locked up in her wannabe dungeon for some ridiculous crime that only this repressed and uptight land would have, something called 'drunk and disorderly conduct.' Bloody idiotic. He had told Swan so, but she had only rolled her eyes and continued to go through the pointless ritual of 'booking him.'

That was gratitude for you. You'd think after being the Big Damn Heroes together, rescuing Henry, and escaping the sadistic clutches of Pan would have meant something. Apparently not.

No, now he had to spend a night on this abysmal cot, wiling away the hours trying not to think how everyone got their happy ending but him.

'His mate' David managed to survive his Dreamshade scratch and Snow's wrath for not telling her. Their daughter even began calling them 'mom' and 'dad' every other third reference.

Swan not only got her son back, but was now reconnected with Baelfire. Milah's son had returned with the knight that Cora had once impersonated via some magical ritual that an old wizard acquaintance of his had used once. The details escaped him. The bottom line however was that Emma, Neal, and Henry were all a happy little family. Even Regina seemed to be content with the end result – something called 'shared custody' with rotating weekends and 'dinner dates' with Henry.

He did not begrudge any of them of that. No, what he did begrudge was the fact that the price he had to pay for the crumbs of affection that Swan tossed him was to watch the Crocodile get his happy ending too.

He would not lie. His rotten heart had warmed when he had heard that Rumplestilskin was fated to die on that hell-hole of an island and that he would get to watch.

But as with all Seer prophecies, things are not what they seem. And the Crocodile's "undoing" was simply him losing his Dark powers and becoming mortal again. And because he did so willingly, both Baelfire and that useless lass Belle thought him a hero.

It was enough to drive anyone to drink excessively…and provoke the biggest dumbest drunkest bloke and his mates into a bar brawl.

Before he could descend too much further into his pity-party, Swan returned...and with a guest.

She was slightly taller than the good sheriff, wider at the hip, and dressed in all black – tight black pants, black knee-high boots, and a black halter top that highlighted her creamy skin. She had two-toned shoulder-length blond hair, dark blond at the roots and pale gold at the ends, and it was swept back and slightly poufy on top. She had diamond-shaped dangly earrings that accented her long neck.

She captured his attention because she was something new, and he was bored. And well, what could he say? He was a pirate, and the lass was something shiny.

Swan finished her booking ritual and placed her guest in the cell next to his without a word. Not even an introduction. How rude.

He went to remedy this, being the gentleman he was, extending his hand through the cell bars, saying, "Hello, lass, I'm – "

But he never got further than that, because when she turned to face him, he _saw _her. Past the highlighted hair, the heavy black eyeliner, and the rouge was the sweet, feisty lass he once knew, hazel brown eyes and all.

~ **E *** **N** * **C** * **H** * **A** * **N** * **T** * **E** * **D ~ F** * **O * R * E * S * T ~ **

**_~ Some time ago ~_**

Hook hated the Forest. He hated its sappy dusty smell. He hated its murky fog. He hated its ever-greenness. Most of all he hated that he couldn't see his horizon. He felt trapped. He felt like a bloody fish-out-of-water.

But according to Sir Gisborne's surly but chatty squire, at the heart of this forest is the Queen's castle and locked up in this fortress is the former slave of the Dark One. And to his way of thinking, this damsel-in-distress would be the best person to tell him the location of The Dagger and would do so gratefully in return for his assistance in her escape. If he was lucky, in more ways than one.

He was pondering the logistics of scouting out the castle and getting his men in the area without alerting the Queen to his intentions, when he heard the clamor of a struggle.

_"Get off me!"_

_"Be still, Goldie!"_

_"Ouch! The bitch bit me!"_

_"Ooh! She must like it rough then…"_

Over the rise and past the burnt tree, he saw three men bulky with fur pelt cloaks pinning a girl down. An unwilling girl by the looks and sound of it – squirming against their hold, biting and gnashing her teeth, kicking and bucking, hissing and cursing – all futilely of course – but nevertheless resistant to the last inch.

A large part of him did not want to get involved. This was not his problem, and he did not want to be delayed from his vengeance, especially not after waiting centuries in that pubescent's hell-hole of a playpen. However…

"I say, mates, three strapping men such as yourself against one lass is rather bad form."

Three disgruntled and peevish (to put it mildly) glares fixated on him. He resisted the urge to grip the hilt of his sword or to brandish his hook, and instead bowed with a flourish, "Captain Hook, gentleman buccaneer."

Big beefy bloke grunted in sneering disdain. Tall wiry chap rasped, "What's it to you, _mate_?" But the stunted scraggy fellow tried to be sneaky and reach for his crossbow at his feet or his knife secreted in his boot.

Hook did not give him a chance for either. Out came one of his own knives, hurtling through the air to lodge in the brute's hand.

At his scream, his companions charged him, long knives and clubs raised. But these thugs had no finesse, as used to common bar brawling as they were, and with a few well-placed swish and flicks he had them disarmed and incapacitated.

Collecting his knives and wiping his blades clean, he inquired not unkindly, "Lass, are you in good health?"

"Y-ye-yes" was her hesitant reply, as she slowly rose from her crouch at the base of the oak tree. "Thank you."

While she carefully took stock of herself and straightened her disheveled appearance, he gave her a cursory glance to verify her answer.

She was a maid perhaps of recent marriageable age, of average height, and of a trim figure, if a bit more curvaceous at the hip, dressed in rather worn, threadbare, and now torn attire – skirt, blouse, walking boots, and cloak. Her tangled curls were a pirate's favorite bright golden-hue, and her eyes were an odd mixture of hazel brown with flecks of amber and a ring of green and had the haunted look of the abandoned.

He did not see injuries beyond the blood at the corner of her mouth, which he surmised she had gotten from a backhanded slap, and the bruises on her arms from where the louts had grabbed her. So his quota of good-deed of the century had not been wasted. Excellent.

Giving her a perfunctory nod, he declared blithely, "Well, then, I bid you a good day." He'd had his fill of being entangled with the lives of lost souls, and this was not the damsel-in-distress he was seeking. So without further ado, he went on his bloodthirsty way.

Or so he attempted.

Not forty paces later, he was hailed with a hasty and desperate, "Wait!"

"I haven't got the time."

The wench was not to be brushed off. She foolishly swung herself in front of him, nearly getting reflexively impaled upon his rather pointy attachment and declaring audaciously, "I'd like to strike a bargain with you, Captain."

Up went his eyebrow, "And what can you possibly offer me? I have no need or desire for an inexperienced bed warmer."

Her heart-shaped face flamed with maiden embarrassment and her eyes flashed blazing amber with indignation, as she bit out, "I am not _propositioning _you. I'm _bargaining_ with you." With a steadying breath, she continued briskly, "In exchange for lessons in swordplay and fisticuffs, I will help you infiltrate the Queen's castle."

_Now _she truly had his attention.

"And why do you think I wish to do that?" he asked coldly. His irritation that his intentions were so well known that this waif was aware of them marred the bored casualness that he was aiming for. A fact, which she picked up on, as evidenced by her knowing smirk.

"Oh well, people talk and I listen," she shrugged with nonchalance. "And a man with your menacing demeanor and unhealthy interest in the Dark One gets noticed."

At his ever-glowering countenance, she hastened to reassure, "But your intentions towards the Queen's unwilling guest has not been broadcasted. I only surmised it was so because I happened to overhear Gisborne's squire quietly question his visiting brother-in-law, who works as a guard at the castle, about the girl's location. Not long before that another party at the tavern had been making morbid predictions about your fate. A conversation the brother-in-law guard had not been present to overhear as well."

He relaxed. The idiot squire may be dumb but he was not stupid enough to bandy about his part in Hook's Crocodile-skinning quest. _No sane person would…so why was this bird getting involved?_

Crossing his arms, he leaned casually back against the tree trunk behind him before skeptically challenging, "And I suppose you would have me believe that you cleverly placed two-and-two together and then came up with a plan – opportunistically, all so that you could receive dueling lessons from a rotten sea dog?"

For all the talk of his 'menacing demeanor,' this chit was not overly put off by him. With brazen confidence, she asserted, "Yes and no. Yes, I _am_ that clever. Furthermore, there is one thing you need to know about any large household, a city mayor's or queen's – the maids know everything. I can go in and get hired, and then I can learn all the guards' rotations, shifts, habits, secrets, and so forth; information that you will need to gain access to and abscond with this Belle girl unnoticed."

"And I, obviously," she gestured to her bruises and torn clothes, "need to learn how to defend myself. Who better than a 'rotten sea dog,' with an equally obvious penchant for survival, to teach me?"

It was very hard to argue with such beguiling logic.

Holding out his hand, he declared amicably, "As a rule, I like to know the name of the individual I deal with, miss…?"

The lass eyed his hand like it was a snake and bit her swollen lip in uncertainty. Lovely, his new partner was a lost girl with trust issues and insane meddlesome tendencies.

"Come on, love. You trust me enough to enter this hazardous pact, but your name is too much?"

Her eyes flashed and she challenged, "And I'm to believe that your natural born family name is truly 'Hook'?"

He bit out a short laugh, "Aye, touché." Extending his hand yet again, he supplied, "The name's Killian Jones."

Her eyes briefly widened in surprise, before she released a determined sigh and straightened her shoulders. Grasping his hand, she began, "The name's…" There was yet another brief pause before she smirked and tossed her golden curls over shoulder, "Tawny. Or Miss Tawny, if you ever prefer to be more formal."

~ **S *** **T** * **O** * **R** * **Y** * **B** * **R** * **O** * **O * K * E ~ **

**_ ~Present ~ _**

"T– ?"

"Yeah, I know. You're Hook, the guy who shot the librarian, Gold's girl." She cut him off accusingly. Her voice was dripping with derision – either in abhorrence at his moral depravity or contempt for his stupidity at going after something of the Crocodile's, he could not tell. However, he was quick to pick up on the fact that she did not want him to say her name.

His suspicions were confirmed, when she immediately switched course. She dropped the hostile act to uncross her arms and cheerily grasped his still outstretched hand, saying, "I'm Gwen, Gwen McKinley."

"Hello- " Her grip tightened and her eyes narrowed threateningly in warning, "Gwen. Call me, Killian. Or Captain Jones, if you prefer the formal."

She let his remaining hand go. Her mercurial hazel eyes flashing with gratitude, as she nodded down to his other limb, "I suppose, I will have to as the reason for your more infamous moniker seems to be missing."

"Yes, that." He waved the be-shortened limb dismissively in their audience's direction. "It seems Miss Swan feels that I will add 'destruction to property' to my crimes…Speaking of which, what offense are you in this landlubber brig for?"

"I'm accused of breaking and entering. But as to whether or not that's true, I plead the fifth."

His eyebrow quirked up questioningly, and she explained with an ever widening and familiar smirk, "That's a handy right this land has guaranteed its citizens – the right against self-incrimination."

At this point, Swan rose up from her chair and began putting on her jacket, saying acerbically, "Alright, I'm going home to my son. You two jailbirds have fun cooing at each other."

As much as he hated for Swan to have the last word, he was far more preoccupied with the blonde in the adjacent cell than with coming up with a suitable rejoinder. And for good reason too, since as soon as the good sheriff exited the building, 'Gwen' was tugging off her boot and pulling out a set of lock picks that had somehow been cleverly concealed within. 'Cleverly' because he knew Swan had checked them when booking the lass.

"How did you…?"

"Do be quiet, Captain Jones. The walls may have ears," she cautioned, just as she jimmied open her cell.

Having heard from Regina of these electronic 'bugs', he did so, watching her curiously as she picked the lock of the metal drawers and began pulling out files. When she had a good dozen or so, she opened up the desk drawer where Swan imprudently stored their personal effects and pulled out the contraption called a 'phone.' From there, she proceeded to go through each file, pausing in her perusal to utilize her tiny box of wonders. There would be a brief flash, and then she would examine the screen. If content with whatever she saw there, she would move on.

This took a few hours; most of which he dozed through as it was not the most stimulating of tableaus. However, during one of his more conscious intervals, he caught her removing a portrait from one of the files and tuck it in her other boot. Intriguing.

Even more so was the fact that after she was done with her little project, she put everything back including herself.

As soon as she got as comfortable as anyone can get on one of these cots, he asked, "And the point of that exercise was what, love?"

She rolled over to face him. After taking a moment to eye him thoughtfully, she whispered, "Captain Jones, gentleman buccaneer, would you be interested in entering a hazardous pact?"

"I'd need a little more details than that, _Gwen_."

"Not here. But when you get out of here, come find me."

Her audacity knew no bounds. The chit had far more serious charges laid against her than he. "What makes you think that you'll be out of here first?" He challenged.

"Why, Captain, because of the general principle of any community – be it Storybrooke, Maine, or … the Forest – the maids know everything," was her taunting and arch reply.

~0~

In the morning, he was awoken by Swan letting his fellow 'jailbird' go free.

"What the hell, Emma?"

"I'm just as confused as you, Killian," was her disgruntled reply. Her annoyance with Gwen must have far exceeded hers with him, because she divulged without prompting, "The witnesses to the break-in recanted their story."

The chit never said a word to him, not until she was in the doorway, and then she turned around and _smirked._

"Damn, mate, that was… _diverting_."

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**A/N: **Thoughts? Questions? Comments?


	3. Chapter 2: Emma Excerpt

**Disclaimer: **Hail to King Kitsis and His Highness Horowitz, may all the glory of OuaT go to them.

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**Chapter 2:**

**Emma Excerpt**

_"Damn, mate, that was diverting."_

Emma did a double take when she heard Gwen McKinley's parting shot. As soon as she was gone, she asked warily, "You two didn't… or anything last night, did you?"

Hook let out a low dry chuckle and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "No, love, but thanks for the idea for next time."

Emma grimaced and mentally prayed for brain bleach before retorting, "Yeah, well, I don't know how much valuables are still on the _Roger_, but you better pray it's enough to cover all your legal fees, especially if you plan on continuing this behavior."

"Who says it's still on me ship, lass?"

Emma rolled her eyes and prayed that David or Neal would show up with her cup of coffee soon. It was going to be a long ass day, in part because of Hook himself but also because she had this niggling feeling that Hook's and McKinley's interactions had greater significance than her initial assessment of instant attraction. And not knowing was going to make her extra-twitchy.

~0~

_Later that day…_

"Henry, do you know who Gwen McKinley is?"

Pausing halfway through a math problem, her son looked at her quizzically, "Yeah, I know her. She used to clean mom's house. Why?"

Putting yet another ice cream dish away (she was really going to have to put her foot down about that before her son's sweet tooth turned into rotten-tooth), she nonchalantly replied, "Oh nothing in particular…It's just that last night I arrested her for breaking and entering a house…" At her son's horrified expression, she swiftly reassured, "It was a case of mistaken identity so I let her go this morning, but Hook and her seemed to know each other, so I was just curious as to who she was."

The light bulb went on above his head and he let out an excited cry, "Oh! You mean which Fairy-tale character she is!" The grin on his face was worth every bit the embarrassment she had in asking. It faded a little as he scrunched his face in concentration, before stating, "I don't know. I never could figure it out. She was very secretive. Nice to me, but not really open to my questions, you know?"

At her nod, he added, "My mom or grandfather would know, since they seemed to know everyone's story even while the Curse was happening. We could ask them."

She reached across the counter and tussled his hair, "That's okay, kid. We don't need to draw unnecessary attention to her just to satisfy my curiosity."

Henry nodded in agreement, accepting the sad wisdom of her statement with aplomb. Even though Regina and Gold were doing better, the Dark whispered to them.

Henry had just returned to his problem, when she interrupted him again to ask, "You said she used to clean Regina's house. Why doesn't she anymore?"

He shrugged, "She hasn't since the Curse was broken. Mrs. Boyd – Ella's stepmom – had to send Perla, who used to be a mouse, to clean it. A mouse doesn't really hold any grudges about turning human, I guess."

This time it was her turn to nod her head in sad acceptance. There was not much she could say to this, so she let him return to his work.

Placing the last glass away, she wondered to herself if Ashley – Ella – would know, seeing as they had worked for the same company for twenty-eight years.

Now that she had a game plan, she felt far less twitchy. Although, really, she should be far more worried about King George, Maleficent, and Ursula than some poor domestic maid that may have a slight acquaintance with Hook.

But then again, you never know. Especially when it came to that leather-clad, scruffy-looking scoundrel.


	4. 3:How to Make Allies & Influence Pirates

**Disclaimer: **Not the creator. Not the creator. Not the creator. Just a humble peasant.

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**Chapter 3:**

**How to Make Allies and Influence Pirates**

_Enchanted Forest_

_Shortly before the Curse is cast…_

She was tired. She was cold. She was hungry. And she was tired of being tired, cold, and hungry and not having two coppers to rub together to do anything about it.

It's the cold, damp, and foggy season of this Endless Forest; and by God, what she was about to do may be uncouth and illegal, but she will _not_ feel guilty for doing what she needs to do to survive. Especially, since it was the three Bear-Trappers who cost her her sad, little hand-to-mouth job as a tavern maid. (A case of being unjustly dismissed for defending herself against groping paws, paws which have more access to silvers, much less coppers, than she.)

However, the Trapping Trio have unwittingly made it up to her. First, they kindly vacated their 'humble' abode to go sell their latest pelts to the Milliner Marquise De Vil. Second, they loudly boasted their travel itinerary between calls for pints, leers, and unwelcome caresses the night of her dismissal, which is how she knew that they would not be returning until late afternoon three days from now.

Oh, and third, she didn't even have to pick the lock or jimmy a window open. The pompous asses think that they are such 'pillars of society' that no one would dare trespass upon their turf. Little do they know that after a lifetime of being walked over, she had vowed to dare.

Once inside, she took care of the essentials, lighting the fire and taking stock of her surroundings. The décor is what one would expect for three fur-trapping, hunting bachelors – an excessive amount of mounted animal heads on the walls and rugs with faces and claws. The pantry has the ingredients for porridge and flapjacks and stew. The smokehouse outback will have meat of all sorts, of that she has no doubt. The cellar even has a bottle of vintage wine, surprising considering the swill that they preferred at the tavern. It's too bad they only had wooden utensils. A silver spoon 'souvenir' or two would have gotten her some much needed new shoes and cloak. Ah well, she will enjoy eating them out of house and home.

And she did. For three days and three nights, she had food in her belly and a roof over her head, the basics of life, which she had not enjoyed so consecutively for many a moon. She slept like an un-colicky babe, once she discovered which mattress had just the right amount of support and plushness.

But as with all things, there is a price.

She was awoken early on the third morning by loud irate exclamations in the form of thunderous roars, soft rumbles, and high-pitched squeaks. "_SOMEONE'S BEEN HERE!" "Eating our food." "And leaving a mess! And look! Drinking my wine!"_

Shooting out of bed, she began hastily getting dressed, stuffing her feet roughly into her shoes and so forth, all the while, cursing under her breath.

_"Bloody hell!...Shite! Shite! Shite! Those noncing poxy gobshites! Of course, it's a bloody mother-effing mess; you're early… early cumming…Cachi!" _

Her less-than-lady-like mutterings ceased as soon as she heard them abandon their search of the main rooms and head toward the bedrooms. She grabbed her bag which is ever ready-to-go, and hopped out the window. Just in time too, as her hasty exit was accompanied by a shrill shout, "The bitch is getting away!"

She ran pell-mell through the woods. Her feet were as swift as a doe's, bounding over logs, dodging trees and brush and gnarly tripping roots. The problem was she was the prey and they were the predators. They knew these woods like the back of their hands, and…

And well, she didn't.

~ **S *** **T** * **O** * **R** * **Y** * **B** * **R** * **O** * **O * K * E ~**

_~3 weeks post-Triumphant Return: The Night of Incarceration~_

"Gwen McKinley!" At the sound of Emma Swan's sweet dulcet tones, she halted halfway down the Rabbit Hole's alley and waited for the Savior to catch up to her. When she did, she announced, "You're under arrest for breaking and entering. You have the right to remain silent…"

While the sheriff was handcuffing her and reading her rights, Gwen was trying her best to stifle her gleeful smile. Grimsby and Carlotta had managed to convincingly set the "crime" scene (a broken window and a few muddy footprints at the kitchen door) but more importantly they had not set off Swan's inner-lie detector when giving their witness statements to the "attempted burglary."

Now it was her turn.

It was not all that hard to play the part of the confident and blasé miscreant. This had after all not been her first tour of the sheriff's station. She strolled into the station like she owned it, answered all of the sheriff's questions with as much taunting ambiguity and doublespeak as she could get away with, and turned left, right, front and center, as requested for her mug shot, barely resisting the urge to wink at the camera.

Her attitude and slippery legalese speech got on the already irritable and exhausted Emma Swan's nerves, causing her to be less than thorough in her search of her person. Not that anyone would have spotted her stashed lock-pick set without knowing where to look to begin with.

And then she was placed in her cell, next to _him_. Her debonair but dark and mysterious Man-in-Black.

~ **E *** **N** * **C** * **H** * **A** * **N** * **T** * **E** * **D ~ F** * **O * R * E * S * T ~**

She was jerked back and thrown against the base of an oak tree by the tall trapper and quickly pinned by her arms by the burly one. She kicked and bucked and bit and fought and cursed with all she had. At one point, two of them sat on her legs.

In between all the ruckus she was making, the beastly men were making coarse and vulgar statements as was their want.

_"What's your name, poppet?...I'll call you Goldie, such pretty fine hair. It'll make such a nice memento of our time here."_

_"You've got a mighty filthy mouth there. Stay still and I'll give you something to wash it out with."_

_"Ooh! She must like it rough then…"_

And then out of nowhere was a man clad in black leather, demanding that the beasts conduct their brutality according to genteel decorum. His insanity was further proved by his embellished self-introduction, twirling his hand and hook about like a flamboyant illusionist.

Her opinion of him drastically changed when, within in less than twenty racing heartbeats, he had disposed of the villains. The be-hooked Man-in-Black may be dangerous (and insane if all she had heard about him was true) but he was also skilled and proficient in survival and combat.

Just the sort of man that some might consider a godsend to her. For like it or not, she was on her own now, and she needed to learn how to fend for herself. And why not learn from the best? Insanity and genius often go hand-in-hand or so they say.

While she took note of her condition – swollen lip, throbbing face, sore wrists, stinging toes, torn blouse – she contemplated how best to make herself useful to this dreaded mad pirate.

Before he could disappear into the endless wood, she had an outline of a plan, and she was confident enough in its soundness that she was willing to make a nuisance of herself to the sinister and less than stable brigand.

He tried to brush her off, but she would not be deterred. She risked getting stabbed in the gut with his hook in her attempt to waylay him. She succeeded, but was then insulted. He insinuated that she was willing to exchange sexual favors for his services – as if that is all a woman can offer and as if she would have no knowledge as to what to do if given the opportunity. Bah! What did he know?

It was so gratifying to prove to him that she was more than a pretty face with her astute observations and cunning plan. And he seemed to respect her desire to be self-sufficient. That in itself was a satisfying new experience for her.

At one point, he tried to intimidate her, but it was impossible to fear him after he just saved her from the Beasts. She respected his violent nature that was seething beneath the surface, but she could not believe that he would harm her.

Nevertheless, that does not mean she trusted him with her true name. She knew the dangers of trusting anyone with that knowledge, much less a pirate, even if he was more gentlemanly than most knights and lords she had known. So she improved upon the name that most people of this land seemed fond of christening her, and called herself "Tawny. Or Miss Tawny…"

~ **S *** **T** * **O** * **R** * **Y** * **B** * **R** * **O** * **O * K * E ~**

Leaning against the bars at the far end of her cell, she scrutinized him beneath her heavily mascaraed eyelashes. He was the same as the first time she laid eyes on him. The same yet different.

Captain Killian Jones, smelling of the leather he dressed in from head to toe and of sea, salt, and rum. Still full of the swagger that he was God's gift to women, sporting that sexy smirk and scruff. His deep blue eyes still flashing with that hardened edge. And yet…

Yet that tightly coiled inner-rage of his had loosened. His adventure in Neverland had transformed him.

His blue eyes were now wide in recognition, and his glib tongue was about to spoil it all. So she played the role of Gwen McKinley to the hilt – the mocking, self-assured smart-ass.

As soon as Emma left, she began to get to work.

She was after files. Considering that she had just broken herself out of lockup, she could have just as easily broken into the station and cabinets, but if she was caught… Well, this way provided the perfect pretense for being there and for talking with Killian. She did not want anyone to know that they knew each other, and there was no reason for Gwen-the-Cleaning-Lass to approach Hook-the-Bloody-Pirate.

She found all the files she needed as well as her own, which was significantly thinner than it should be. (_Bless his soul wherever it may be._) She removed the mug shot of her first arrest, the last shred of evidence of her be-cursed and unfortunate hair color choice.

And now it was time to bait the Hook.

~0~

_3 days later…_

She stepped out of her bathroom cocooned in her pajama pants and über-comfy bathrobe, feeling refreshed after a long hot shower, only to be startled by –

"It took you long enough," observed a soft lilting voice, a very familiar _male _voice. "You haven't changed much. You still have a fetish for secrets and a peculiar aversion for anyone knowing your name, _Tawny_."

Somehow managing not to show her disquiet beyond the slight tensing of her muscles, she retorted, "Yeah well, I don't know if you noticed, but this world has an uncanny but warped knowledge of our lives. I prefer people to view me as I wish to be seen, if seen at all, than have their perception of me prejudiced by some grossly inaccurate kids' story, in which those three bastards are epitome of civility."

"Aye, lass, I get that," he ruefully acknowledged.

At this, she teased, "Ah yes, the infamous Captain Hook. I would say Disney's portrayal of you as an imbecile was either a slander campaign or a fuck-up but … you took your sweet time finding me. I thought I was going to have to leave you breadcrumbs."

"I don't know who 'Disney' is but I found you two days ago, love, and have been following you ever since," was his dry retort.

"Hmm, two days? I spotted you yesterday," she mused, and then shrugged, "I guess, I'm going to have to work on that. Tea?"

Killian held up a mug, "I helped myself. Like I said, you were in there an extraordinarily long time."

As she made her way to the kitchen, she cast a cursory glance around the modest apartment to see if anything had been disturbed. A few books and magazines, but her laptop looked untouched. Either he didn't know the significance of the device or he simply accepted that it was beyond his unique skill set.

"I'd say that I like what you've done with the place, but…" he gestured to the apartment's Spartan and very much masculine bachelor décor. The only pieces of furniture in the front room were a russet-colored barcalounger, the side table next to it, the large screen TV mounted on the wall, and the round cheap dining room table and two accompanying chairs. All of her books were stacked up against the walls or on the two tables.

She had added a chenille throw and cushions to the chairs, and had replaced the picture of the dogs playing poker with a landscape portrait of picturesque Welsh sea-side cliffs. Most of her home improvement budget had been dedicated to paying for her new bed, sheets, pillows, and comforter. They were worth every penny, because they were just right. Not that _he_ needed to know any of that.

"The apartment was previously let to a fellow named Will, but he disappeared the day the Curse was broken," was her indifferent explanation. She was far more interested in his earlier remark. "You've been watching me the whole time?"

"Yes, love," his grin growing the more mischievous by the minute, "And might I say, I have never seen a maid have quite so much _fun_ in carrying out her duties?"

She stifled a groan, at his twinkling blues and at the memory of her time at Jefferson's. She had been listening to her iPod and rocking out to her music while dusting in full view of the front bay windows. It must have been an entertaining sight indeed, for she knew she wasn't the most alluring or graceful modern dancer. She nearly choked on her tea at his next insinuating comment.

"However, I don't see why you couldn't carry out your little tryst with the owner of that monstrous estate there at his place rather than in that tin can hovel in the middle of nowhere."

She set her cup down harder than she intended to on the dining table and tried to keep her cool. It was an extremely difficult thing to do, seeing as he had been winding her up with his comments about her shower habits, her décor choices, and her dancing in order to provoke her into revealing more to him than she was ready to.

She managed, but just barely.

Sitting huffily down at the table, she gestured for him to take the seat across from hers. When he did, she took a deep steadying breath and then, and only then, replied, "_First_, it was not a 'tryst.' It was business and not in any way connected to the sexual kind. _Second_, out of respect for Jefferson's recent reunion with his long lost daughter, I avoid contaminating their home with my less-than-benign doings." Shooting him a glare, she concluded testily, "_Now_, are you done needling me and ready to hear my offers?"

His expressive eyebrows shot up as he noted, "'Offers'? In the plural. Color me curious: how many are we talking?"

Ignoring his slight mocking tone, she launched into her first pitch. "The first is not all that different from our old deal. You teach me your survival skills and in exchange I provide you with information. However, instead of aiding you in your quest for vengeance, I teach you what I know of this modern and technologically-based world."

"I've done alright so far, Tawny lass," he protested dryly.

"Yes, while you were skulking about with Cora and then Neal's fiancé," she scoffed. "But now whether you decide to sail off to explore this world's seas or to become a member of the Storybrooke community, you're going to need more than your luck and charm."

She waited for him to make some quip about her finding him charming or some such twaddle, but he surprised her, because his cocky façade slipped long enough for him to grimly agree, "Aye, I do not have so much conceit that I cannot admit that I am in sore need of such help."

His display of vulnerability did not last long. Within a blink of an eye, he was scrutinizing her speculatively and challenging her with that light sardonic tone of his, "But why are you the person that I receive such assistance from? Just from my little foray to that metropolis, I could tell that this hamlet and its citizens are behind the times. Wouldn't I be better served getting my assistance from – "

"From who?" She interrupted impatiently. "From Emma Swan? Neal? Their busy playing parents and town heroes. From some lass in another port that you manage to charm?" She waved her hand dismissively. "You'll have too many gaps of knowledge to explain."

Leaning back, she confidently boasted, "I can give you two reasons why you want me." She let the double entendre sink in, before listing, "One, you're like me, you don't like being in anyone's debt, and my offer is a fair trade. Two, while Swan was busy running around in denial that there was such things as magic and True Love and then having her adventures in the Forest and in Neverland, I was busy playing catch-up. I can assure you that very few citizens of Storybrooke have bothered or are as advanced as I."

She waited, while he contemplated the veracity of her claims. And then she waited some more, maintaining her casual self-assurance and avoiding her nervous tells so that he would not conclude she was bluffing. She didn't know what finally convinced him, but he finally queried, "So an hour of my skill set in exchange for an hour of yours?"

She nodded and smiled.

"Then we have an accord," Killian confirmed with his own contented smile, that swiftly turned mischievous as he took her hand, which had been extended for a deal-sealing handshake, and brought it to his lips, for she supposed a deal-sealing kiss across her knuckles.

She didn't protest, nor did she blush. She merely rolled her eyes at his antics, and then used that very same hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, something which she had been itching to do during this entire chat. Truly.

"And now, m'lady, what is Offer #2?"

* * *

**A/N: **

Translation: _Cachi _= 'shit' in Welsh

I am curious to know your thoughts on my version of the Goldilocks tale.

Also, the next chapter is titled: _The D__etour of Hats and Bells_


	5. Chapter 4: The Detour of Hats & Bells

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

* * *

**Chapter 4:**

**The Detour of Hats and Bells**

_Storybrooke, __Jefferson Mansion_

_The evening after the Hat Burning..._

"Jefferson, I need your help," Gwen stated quietly, as they both watched Grace pack for her weekend with "Paige's" parents.

"Ah," he nodded sagely, and with a bit of bitterness, "So this is why you offered to take me out for drinks 'to take my mind off things.' You need a favor." Turning stiffly to her, he hissed with intense resentment, "The answer is no. I am _done_ 'helping people.' I just got Grace back."

Rolling her eyes, she snapped, "I'm not taking you out to butter you up. I'm taking you out so that you are a semi-sane man when Grace returns Sunday afternoon and she doesn't have tea with the Mad Hatter, you nitwit. And contrary to what you are thinking, what I am asking you to do doesn't involve you leaving this house."

She waited and watched, and when his shoulders relaxed a smidge and his body angled itself towards her, she decided that was as receptive as he was going to get. "I need you and your eccentric habit of spying on people with that fancy telescope of yours. That's all."

"That is never all," he noted acerbically. "And who would I be spying upon?"

"Right now, King George, if you can find him," was her immediate reply. "He nearly got Ruby killed."

After reminding Grace not to forget her toothbrush and to only bring one stuffed animal with her, he pointedly inquired, "And what shall I do with these observations?"

She shrugged, "Nothing at first. Let me know of anything of interest, things like his stealing magical red cloaks and such."

"Why do you care?"

She sighed heavily and then faced him, meeting his piercing gaze head on and letting him see the depth of her pain, "I don't want there to be another Billy."

"And I am tired of the pawns being sacrificed for the principals' happiness."

Jefferson looked pensively down at the stuffed rabbit in his hand, then over to his daughter, back to the rabbit, and then back up to her. When his blue eyes met hers, there was a quiet determination and grim acceptance to them. But all he said was a simple –

"Okay."

~0~

_Storybrooke Woods, __August's Trailer_

_Two days after Gwen & Hooks' night in jail..._

"I don't see why you insist on meeting out here for this. It's positively unhygienic," Jefferson whined. "And you're my cleaning lady and friend, so no one would suspect us having a chat at my house."

"I won't risk it," was Gwen's curt reply. "I don't mix business with the personal, if I can help it." She shoved a thermos of hot tea into his hand, huffing, "And besides it is _not_ unhygienic. I cleaned this trailer when Billy put it up for sale and again after August… regressed to real ginger-boy."

The ex-portal jumper giggled at her vehement self-defense and then asked with more gravity, "So what did you glean from those files of yours?"

"That although Regina and Rumpelstiltskin were exceedingly evil for creating and using the Curse, they had their limits."

"Which were?"

"Did you know that before time was returned to Storybrooke upon Emma's arrival, there was not one single house of pleasure in the whole town? Not even one little apartment with a red porch light?" She answered indirectly. When he shook his unruly head, she continued, "Yep, not a one. But afterwards, Graham arrested three women for solicitation."

"And now there's Agustino's strip club down near the docks." Jefferson added shrewdly. Mademoiselle Mayor had tried to shut down the establishment – not that there was anything wrong with erotic dancing per se, it was just that more than that was most assuredly going on behind the scenes. However, there was no proof and there were no provisions in the town charter against it and this was the land of the free, so it remained. The lawyer of the shell company that 'owned' the business saw to that. Jefferson was able to identify one of the silent partners as Agustino. They were still trying to find out who the others were. The problem with a town being behind the times was that everyone was still using the paper system and her newly acquired hacking skills were of little present use.

"And before the Curse was broken, there was never a hint of drugs. The only substance abuse charges were brought up against Leroy. But now," she slumped morosely into the worn sofa. "Now, they're pouring into town because people can't take the fact that they are trapped in this tiny corner of a strange world with little hope of getting back home or even that it is worthwhile to go back to with all the ogres."

"It's enough to drive anyone mad."

At this quiet and knowing remark, Gwen reached over and patted his hand sympathetically. They sat there in momentary silence, before he asked, "Anything else?"

Pushing the files towards him, she answered more briskly, "Yeah, the three ladies charged with solicitation were bailed out by Foxworthy. Graham suspected him of being their pimp."

Jefferson scanned the file, quickly picking up on what she had. "His known associates are the dollar theater and strip club owner Agustino and the arcade owner Driver?"

"Nice little operation they got going, don't you think? Driver introduces some poor depressed adolescent to the wonders of euphoria, and then when they are good and hooked and can't pay for their habit, they can work it off directly for his supplier Agustino, who I suspect is that puppet show owner Stromboli." She cynically theorized.

"So which of your do-gooders are you going to pass this on to, now that Swan and Co. are back?"

Gwen carefully considered this. She wanted to keep her anonymity, and she just knew suspicious Swan and Prince David wouldn't respect that. They would gnaw on the mystery until they were satisfied that the source was trustworthy.

She could give the information to her former co-worker Ashley (a.k.a. Princess Ella) or her hairstylist Giselle (a.k.a. Rapunzel) and both of them would pass on the information to Mademoiselle Mayor no questions asked, but she did not want to keep using them. Ella had a daughter, and if it was ever discovered by these vile men that she might know the mayor's 'Concerned Citizen'… well, she would not risk it.

What she needed was a go-between. Someone who had connections to both the do-gooders and the underworld. Someone who could defend themselves and didn't have any innocent dependents to fear for. Someone that she could trust. She just hoped he was up for the job.

"I'll put it all on a flash-drive and then slip it into the mayor's stack of mail. She'll keep Swan focused on the true threats." She finally asserted.

Jefferson snorted, "Lord knows we have enough of those to go around."

"You could say that again." Gwen sighed despondently. There were enough villainous heads on this beastie to rival Medusa's serpentine tresses.

"Lord knows – "

"Don't."

She had snapped at him, but his childish, Hatter-reminiscent antic had put a smile on her face.

Why was it that it seemed that only men with questionable tethers to sanity were able to do so?

~0~

_Storybrooke, __Office of the Mayor_

_The next morning..._

"How can you trust a faceless person? How do you know that these names are even accurate and not just people that the 'Concerned Citizen' has a vendetta against?" Emma challenged. "Or that it isn't the guilty party and/or Grandpa George trying to waste our time sending us on a wild goose chase?"

"I don't," Belle stated matter-of-factly, shocking her almost daughter-in-law into silence. "And I'm not asking you to either. What I am asking you to do is to look into these people to verify this tip."

As Emma scanned the list again, Belle mentally went over it herself:

- _Agustino, a.k.a. Stromboli?, dollar theater and strip club owner_

- _Driver, a.k.a. 'the Coachman'?, arcade owner, host of underground poker games?_

- _Frank Foxworthy, a.k.a. 'Honest John' W. Foulfellow?, accountant for above businesses, bookie?_

- _Charlie Harlequin, a.k.a. Gideon 'the mute'?, arcade employee, frequent strip club customer_

"These are all _Pinocchio _villains," the blond sheriff noted incredulously.

"I know. I have read a book or two, Emma," she dryly replied. "And from what I've read about criminal behavior, people gravitate to who and what they know. So why wouldn't they reconnect with each other after the Curse is broken and then repeat offenses?"

Emma had no answer to this, but there was still an exasperating amount of mulishness to her posture. 'Intractable woman' was right. Curse Regina.

The former mayor had not been overly gracious when she learned that in her absence the town held a re-election for her position and that upon her return no one wished for her to resume her duties. Her parting shot as she collected her personal effects from the office had been to wish her the 'joys of a Sheriff Swan-induced headache.' Beastly woman.

Resisting the urge to rub her temples, she confronted the Savior head-on, "Look, Emma. I know you don't like how I run things. I know you prefer to go back to having you and your parents be the leaders of this town." She held up her hand to silence the woman's protest, "Don't deny it. Before you left for Neverland, you did not have to consult with or be accountable to an entire committee of royals, and now you do. I do too, and I sympathize with your frustrations completely – because I am the one who has to do the explaining to Prince Thomas and Eric, Princess Ella and Abigail, and her consort Frederick."

Belle let that sink in before continuing, "Before Neverland, everyone was content to let your parents lead because they are exceptional at it. But when they were gone, there was a vacuum to fill – which King George was quick to point out."

Emma's paternal grandfather had been the one to call for the re-election, seizing the chance like any skilled opportunist, and he had the support of quite a few businessmen and women who wanted stability. This, of course, had led to the mad rush to find a suitable opposing candidate. Thomas' father had no desire to have that kind of responsibility again. He was enjoying being the doting grandfather too much. Thomas and Ella had very little actual ruling experience, and neither did Abigail and Frederick. Prince Eric had more experience, but he was consumed with his search for Ariel, who had disappeared around the time Ursula and Maleficent had resurfaced.

And then Ruby had opened her big fat mouth and revealed that Belle – "Rumple's Girl" who had protected the town with her lover's spell – had ruled her father's domain in his stead while he, Gaston, and the men had been off fighting the ogres. A fact which she had only learned from a tipsy Belle on girls' night. This revelation led to her being nominated and then eventually being elected. Her persuasive skills, the ones she had been using to keep Rumple on the slightly straight and nearly narrow, had come in handy in the debate, but even more so when dealing with a cabinet/council/committee of opinionated royals, who all want what is best for _their_ people.

"And," she concluded, "I am the one who will have to explain to them why I didn't have every lead investigated or why I thought the exploitation of their youth was not considered a priority."

"How about the more immediate concern of Ursula, Maleficent, and His Majestic-Assness?"

Ah, yes, the Terrible Trio. Like she needed to be reminded of them.

How to describe the problem of Ursula? Well, she is the combination of power-hungry Cora, revenge-seeking Regina, and the deal-making Dark One. Her cursed persona was Mrs. Octavia Bay, owner of Storybrooke's seafood cannery; a persona, which she maintained until Regina and Rumple left town. As soon as they were gone, she let everyone know that she was open for magical deal-breaking business.

Her first customer was Maleficent. The Sea Witch restored the sorceress to her former glory for the low, low price of promising to stay out of her way and of gifting her the curse that would return the Little Mermaid to her natural state. It had gone downhill from there.

Maleficent's first step was to acquire herself a magical beasty companion – and only a certain werewolf would do. Princess Abigail's Frederick and her appointed interim-sheriff had been able to rescue Red with the help of the fairies, but the poor dear was still recovering from that ordeal.

And as for the once-upon-a-time king, she wished he would just go back to the rock he had crawled out from under. Ever since defeating the 'upstanding Mr. Spencer' in the election, she had been putting out his fires. He had been using his influence with the town's businessmen to raise their prices, cut their employees' benefits and pay, evade taxes, and cease their donations to charity; all in order to demoralize her support base. She would not be surprised to learn that he was helping and being helped by the criminals that her 'Concerned Citizen' was after.

"By all means, Emma, make them your top priority. All I am asking is that you not become so obsessed with them that you don't take the time to look into this too, or that you are so suspicious of my source that you ignore valuable information, which could save someone's life – like it did for your godmother."

Emma could say nothing to the latter claim, as it was a well-known fact that without her mysterious source's information, they would never have been able to locate where Maleficent had chained up Ruby. And so she (finally) nodded in acceptance and picked up the list before making her way at the door.

Belle stopped her just as she was halfway through, calling out, "Oh, and Emma? Try accepting help from your peers. I know Abigail and your parents have a mixed history, but she and Frederick make a great team of Brains-and-Brawn. And the others have proven themselves capable as well."

She nodded her head again and then left, for once letting Belle have the last word. A feat which the mayor had thought would not happen – at least not before her beau dropped his 'I-know-best' attitude and manipulative ways and/or more likely hell froze over.

But this was just further proof that miracles could happen in this modern world. How…inspiring.

* * *

**A/N: **Questions? Comments? Concerns?

The next chapter: _The Crusader and the Pirate_


	6. Chapter 5: The Crusader and the Pirate

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, just taken it out for a _Jolly_-ride

* * *

**Chapter 5:**

**The Crusader and the Pirate**

_Gwen's apartment_

Killian knew Tawny's second offer was not to be something he would like to hear, judging by her nervous lip-nibbling and second hair-behind-the-ear-tucking. That and the fact that he doubted their fighting lessons deal was the 'hazardous pact' she had been referring to the other night.

It wasn't.

"I need you to be my 'meddlesome maid.'"

His eyebrow shot up of its own accord before he jeered, "Well, lass, if role-playing is your cup o' tea – "

Instead of the eye roll or silencing glare he expected, she retorted with a quick, "I now know you're willing and _up_ for the challenge. Huzzah. But I was thinking of something of more like what I did for you, than the bedroom sport, Captain."

"And what castle are you attempting to storm in this little hamlet?" He queried dryly, valiantly (or so he thought) resisting the urge to boast about his 'willingness' or ability to 'rise to the challenge'.

"Not a 'castle', a community," Tawny corrected. "The less than savory. And I don't want to invade their territory, just merely keep tabs on them and thwart on occasion."

He shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. He had forgotten that the Tawny he had known had always worn the mask of self-interest but was truly a crusader. Her mask could be very convincing at times.

~ **E *** **N** * **C** * **H** * **A** * **N** * **T** * **E** * **D ~ F** * **O * R * E * S * T ~**

Killian had been anxiously waiting for their first weekly rendezvous since she had gotten hired at the castle, and while he waited, he had plenty of time for doubts to creep in about this chit of a girl and their pact. During the few days that they had journeyed through the Forest together, she had proven an exceptional student – a quick learner and open to critique. She was an excellent traveling companion as well. She was comfortable with silence and did not pester him with questions, rambling stories, or details of her provincial life. But nor was she adverse to conversation or verbal sparring when he initiated it.

All in all she was proving herself to be too good of a partner. So he had waited for the other shoe to drop when she met him outside of the fortress walls. However, he could find nothing to complain about. She provided him useful details as to the guards' rotation and personalities and even some of their watchwords. If this wasn't the Witch Queen's castle, he could get his men and successfully storm the place with this much information. But with magic involved, he was reluctant to do so.

Killian supposed it was unfair of him to be so itchy with suspicion because she had done _too_ good of a job. But he couldn't help it. His mind was whirring with misgivings. No lass with that sweet of a face should be comfortable with the idea that he was hell-bent on killing a man and anyone who got in his way. Even if said lass could swear to make a sailor blush. Even if said 'sweet' lass had an aura of mystery about her, amplified by her reluctance to talk about her past or even give him her real name.

If she was more than she claimed to be, more than a survivor, only interested in quid pro quo dealings, what was she? Why, oh why was she helping him?

So after bringing her to this secluded meadow just beyond the Queen's soldiers' patrol, he asked.

"So, Tawny, why does a sweet looking lass, such as yourself, not mind helping a bloodthirsty pirate attempt murder?"

The golden-haired maid ceased her inspection of the clearing to eye him warily, asking, "Are you planning on _murdering_ this girl of the Queen's?" Her contralto voice dripped with accusatory suspicion.

"No," he denied, placing his good hand over his heart and swearing, "On my word as a gentleman, I will do right by the once noble maid."

When she didn't seem immediately convinced, he sighed and reassured impatiently, "I plan on _talking_ to her." And then he 'helpfully' pointed out, "But whatever I learn from her, will hopefully lead me to what I can use to kill the Dark One. So essentially you will be an accessory to murder."

"In my experience, the only good sorcerer is a dead sorcerer," was the lass's hard, cold, and bitter reply. "You'll be doing me and anyone else that could be a potential collateral victim to his schemes a favor."

_'In her experience'? _Now _that_ was interesting. Quirking his eyebrow, he taunted with dry amusement, "So shall I kill the Sorcerous Queen too while I'm at it?"

"Bite thy tongue, Captain!" She fiercely commanded, richly rewarding his efforts. No longer cold and indifferent and inscrutable, she was fiery and openly angry as she whirled on him, hissing, "No one plots _Her_ death in these woods except those who have a death wish, and I do not."

"No? But you conspire to steal from her, to violate her home, do you not?"

"For a man who has allegedly lived centuries, you know nothing, Killian Jones." She replied irritably, rolling her eyes in derision.

"Oh, _do_ enlighten me." He challenged, his kohl-rimmed eyes narrowing with equal irritation at her dismissive tone.

"All soldiers who dare to talk of the Queen's business tell the tale that she spies upon the land with the aid of a bewitched mirror that is nigh omniscient," was her pontificating reply. "It is said that the only reason Snow White has been able to defeat the Queen is because her heart is pure and holds no true desire to kill her stepmother."

Tilting his head to the side, he scrutinized the chit before him, carefully assimilating this revealing tidbit, and when it clicked for him what she considered to be the important distinction between him and her, he smiled and gleefully chortled, "Oh ho! So your motives are pure, are they?"

Tawny glanced away, her shoulders hunching up as if to shield herself from his perceptive gaze.

Still chortling, he asked, "I'm right, aren't I, lass? Don't deny it. You read like an open book."

"If I am such an open book, what are my so-called altruistic motives?" She snapped with a toss of her golden curls.

Killian carefully considered her once again before postulating, "You want to free the poor imprisoned maid, and you want to protect the innocents from the Dark One." As he spoke, her whole body tensed to the point he feared her teeth would shatter from the pressure of her grinding. Conversely, he began to relax. She was not a puppet of the Dark One's, sent to lead him astray. But truly a sweet lass pretending to be an indifferent brat.

His relief was so strong, he chortled gleefully, "You're a bloody champion of the people, in disguise as an urchin!"

"Apparently not a very good disguise…" She grumbled.

"Cheer up, lass." He jovially commanded. "You had me going for quite a while – talking about your revenge upon the trappers and taking what's owed you."

"So what should I have said or not said?" Her hazel eyes wide, open, and expectant.

And there it was. One of the many reasons he admired her. She was able to accept defeat graciously and then attempt to learn from it.

"You should have said that the princess' heart is '_perceived _to be pure' and 'holds no _evil_ intent'. This leaves room for doubt that her heart or yours is truly pure, you see." He helpfully advised.

Bobbing her head and grinning mischievously, she boasted, "Well, you're just bloody lucky that my heart is not blackened by vengeance like your own or you would never get near the castle."

In a far better mood, he magnanimously complimented, "And once again you prove you have brains as well as beauty, as evidenced by your phrasing, which leads me to ask: 'And, pray tell, what is your heart darkened by?'"

Smiling wickedly, the wench leaned forward and whispered huskily, "By all manner of vices."

~ **S *** **T** * **O** * **R** * **Y** * **B** * **R** * **O** * **O * K * E ~**

"And why, dear Tawny, do you _need_ to spy upon and foil the dodgy inhabitants of this fair town?"

She shrugged and fiddled with her tea cup, before softly confessing, "Before the Curse, I had no one. And when the Curse was broken, I thought that I was alone once again. But…" She raised her gaze to his, her eyes misty with profound emotion, "But these people that I now call friends, remembered me and asked after me. And Emma Swan the Savior can't protect them from everything, so I do what I can."

He carefully considered what she said. A small part of him wanted to say that before the Curse she had had him. But that wasn't true. Their relationship had been strictly professional – lessons for information; and when he no longer needed her information, he had barely given her a second thought.

"Very noble of you. But in case you didn't recall, I'm a revenge-seeking pirate. Hardly the ideal recruit for this sentimental crusade of yours," he pointed out with truthful self-deprecation.

Again, she surprised him. Instead of being disappointed or hurt by his less than sympathetic attitude, she smiled with – _fondness?_ – asking, "And you want to know what I have to offer that would make this endeavor worth your while?"

Warily, because the seeming affection she was displaying was disconcerting, he confirmed her (delighted?) suspicions, "Got it in one, darling."

Pushing her tea cup to the side, she clasped her hands in front of her on the table and leaned forward, briskly and confidently stating, "You, Killian Jones, are no longer Captain Hook. Your Crocodile is for all intent and purposes no more, and after 300 years, you now have no purpose. The benefit of my 'sentimental crusade' is that it will give you a cause to live for once again."

Hearing her words and staring into her earnest hazel brown eyes, Killian wanted to run. The last time a golden-haired lass asked him to do the _selfless thing _and _belong_, he had ended up alone anyways. Granted, he had saved Milah's grandson in the process, but…

He was going to make this one work for it and prove it was truly advantageous for his well-being.

"I can tell you have given this offer a lot of thought, Tawny." He observed casually before leaning forward and insisting with great intensity, "And you are going to tell me every single one of them before I even begin considering accepting."

Her eyes narrowed, "Challenge accepted."

Leaning back, she began ticking off her arguments on her slender fingers.

"You're the perfect candidate for a double agent, if you'll pardon the dramatic title. You have the infamous reputation, which will get you in with that sort of crowd. You also have the we-survived-an-ordeal bond with 'The Family,' which will lend credibility to any information you or my other sources gather. Credibility which I lack due to the necessity for anonymity. And because you're the sorry sap who didn't get the girl, you have motive in the eyes of most for wanting to piss off Swan by reverting back to your old ways after months playing the hero."

And as if that wasn't enough, she continued: "Moreover, while most would fear that your self-interest-above-all-else instincts will lead you to succumb to the 'underworld' of Storybrooke and eventually betray the 'noble cause', I believe you have the potential of being a man of honor. And despite the fact that you broke your word to me in the past concerning a certain damsel-in-distress, I know that you are indeed a gentleman buccaneer."

~ **E *** **N** * **C** * **H** * **A** * **N** * **T** * **E** * **D ~ F** * **O * R * E * S * T ~**

_ "I don't know what you're talking about, and I have no idea how to… How to kill Rumpelstiltskin…No. And…And nor would I," _protested the foolish girl, Belle.

Hook's rage boiled. He had been so close…And now this bonnie imbecile was going to deny him his justice? Protect that monster?

_'I truly am doing right by her, love. It's better that she be dead than a slave, a mindless devotee to that demon.' _He silently justified to his golden lass, as he raised his hook for the killing blow.

~ **S *** **T** * **O** * **R** * **Y** * **B** * **R** * **O** * **O * K * E ~**

"One good deed is not enough to acquit a man's lifetime of selfishness." He scoffed.

"No, but it might be enough to doom him to a road of amends and absolution." She countered, a slight smirk playing on her lips.

Killian was floored. This chit of a girl – no, woman – truly and unequivocally had faith in him. Not since Milah had he experienced the weight of that to such a degree. And to the intense gleam of her eyes to the sad smile on her lips, he could see that she knew that he both desired such unfettered trust and resented its burden _and_ that she sympathized with him. It was enough to make him want to kiss her.

And then she spoiled the moment.

With gleeful relish, she added, "And three, I figured you would want to clean up your mess. Or did you forget that it was you and those anti-magic loons who left the very much undead Dragon Witch's cell door wide open?"

His mouth gaped open. He felt sucker-punched. He did in fact feel extremely guilty for his part in unleashing the Hag onto the unwitting townsfolk. It was a small part though. Regina in keeping her there at all shared a great deal of the blame. And then one must not forget the fools with their lightning guns, which only rendered the Hag mostly dead. Nevertheless, for the chit to _go there_… T'was dirty and underhanded.

"That was below the belt, Tawny," he chided.

She snorted in dry amusement and then triumphantly mocked, "Yes, but I was taught by a pirate, was I not?"

~ **E *** **N** * **C** * **H** * **A** * **N** * **T** * **E** * **D ~ F** * **O * R * E * S * T ~**

_~The first night on their journey to the Queen's castle~_

The lass was quick and agile. Even from this first practice bout, he could tell that given enough time she could take on even a few of the Lost Boys – gods forbid. Good footwork. Good instincts. A natural. But too focused on him, leaving herself open for attack from other opponents or for –

He kicked a loose log from the fire at her legs, causing her to jump back and stamp out the embers before they ruined her skirts.

"Bad form!" she accused in outrage, as soon as she was in the clear.

"Yes, but not everyone out there is me or a knight of the round table, love, especially not anyone who is threatening to harm a sweet thing like you." He admonished. "So Rule #1: never _ever_ fight fair."

~ **S *** **T** * **O** * **R** * **Y** * **B** * **R** * **O** * **O * K * E ~**

"Too well, it seems…" was his grudging reply. "So yes, I will consider this second offer further."

"Please, do." She encouraged as she walked him to her front door. "Because I have no doubt that in the next few weeks you will be approached by some sort of fishy shady fellow, and that will be your opportunity to do the noble thing."

Killian snorted (elegantly of course) and then grinned cheekily, "I cherish those moments. I like to two-finger salute them as I sail on by."

Tawny rolled her eyes, stating exasperatedly, "And on that note, G'night, Jones." Her farewell was also accompanied by a very rude hand gesture before she shut the door in his face.

"Oi! Where did you pick that up, m'lady?!"

~ **E *** **N** * **C** * **H** * **A** * **N** * **T** * **E** * **D ~ F** * **O * R * E * S * T ~**

_~Second night on journey to Queen's castle~_

"_Cachi!_" Tawny cursed in what must be her native tongue, after he 'killed' her yet again. He could only pick up every third word, but she went on to add something about unholy frog-humping testicles and unintelligent inbred stacks of meat. He didn't know whether to applaud her ingenuity and daring or plug his ears so that they wouldn't bleed.

"Oi! Enough of that." He commanded before taking a refreshing swig of rum. "You have the mouth of a shanty town doxy, and, darling, that does not conjure up a pretty image." Offering her a sip from his flask, he asked, "Where did you pick up such foul language and why?"

"Here and there. I have worked in more than one sailors' tavern," (a fact which she demonstrated by not flinching from the liquor's burn), "And I quickly learned that those who speak with clear diction and without …_local color_ tend to be considered easy pickings."

He considered her carefully – her stance naturally in the _en garde_ position, her chin lifted stubbornly, her gaze clear and unrepentant. Spunky, to say the least.

"Well, by the time I am done with you, lass, you won't ever be."

~ **S *** **T** * **O** * **R** * **Y** * **B** * **R** * **O** * **O * K * E ~**

Glancing down, he examined the glossy portrait in his hands. It was one of those that Swan was so fond of taking when locking him up. Blue background. Placard with a string of letters and numbers. Except this was held by a young woman. Stubborn chin. Guarded expression. Unrepentant gaze. And vibrant pink pixie hair.

Looking at it, he couldn't help but chortle to himself, for even be-cursed she was a tough lass.

* * *

**A/N: **Next chapter titled _The __Road of Redemption. _Guest stars will include characters from _Cinderella, Tangled, Peter Pan, 101 Dalmations, Beauty and the Beast, _and_ Robin Hood. _So stay tuned ; ) And review, por favor.


	7. Chapter 6: The Road of Redemption

**Chapter 6:**

**The Road of Redemption**

_Storybrooke_

_A few mornings later…_

As Killian entered Granny's diner, Henry was leaving for what he assumed was school, as the giant yellow carriage was trundling down to its pick up point. But more importantly, for the first time since his return from Neverland, the lad was not beaming from ear to ear. His eyes quickly searched for the lad's mother – either of them – and landed on Swan, whose face had that pinched anxious and defeated look to it, as she gazed morosely after her son.

He sat down at the bar next to her and inquired solicitously, "So why the long faces? Henry looks as if his pup has died."

Emma winced in pain before snapping, "Because he probably has. Archie was attacked last night and Pongo has been missing ever since. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

"Not I. The Cricket has not been harmed by my hand or hook." He denied, and then with equal amount of sincerity, he added, "And may I say, Swan, it has been awhile since I have stuck my foot in it so profoundly, and I apologize for my flippancy. Is he alright?"

"He's fine, just a mild concussion." She informed him hesitantly, as she eyed him warily, "And apology accepted, although whatever it is that you want, the answer is no, and if by 'awhile' you mean in the last few days, _then_ I'll believe you."

This last, she stated with a twinkle in her eyes and quirk at the corners of her wide mouth, taking the sting out of her words. Not that he didn't play it up. Pressing his hand over his heart, he declared, "Oh, Swan, you wound me, on so many levels."

This got him a smile and an eye roll, but when her gaze landed on the till, which was not being manned by the tall brunette, her smile fell, prompting him to ask, "How is wolf-girl? Was she up for tracking duties yestereve?"

"No," She sighed despondently, "We asked, but when we mentioned that it was the dog we were looking for, she began to babble about wolves disappearing into hell and coming out as spotted hounds. It's the worst I've ever seen her."

"Ah. Hence you're long face."

"I wish I knew how many lives that malicious bitch has," she bitterly muttered into her coffee to-go mug. His bloodthirsty lass not caring that he heard her when she uttered next, "Because then I would just kill her over and over again until it stuck."

"Indeed, if it only worked that way." He sympathized, as only he could.

Perhaps, she realized this, because then her walls went back up and her sheriff-persona came on. Nary a word did she say to him, while she paid for her coffee, as if he wasn't there, until on her way out the door, she called to him ominously: "Oh, and Hook?"

He raised his eyebrow, waiting for the patented and _charming _Swan threat.

"I don't know what it is that you are doing to keep yourself occupied these days, but if I find out that you have been practicing your piratical ways – well, let's just say it won't be pretty."

He lifted his own coffee cup in salute, cheerfully acknowledging her with a "Duly noted, love."

Her scowl warmed him better than Granny's bitter brew.

~0~

_Pleasure Island (the strip club)_

_Later that day..._

Killian scanned the establishment. It reminded him of many a brothel. Illuminated to hide the patrons but to shine on the enticements. Skinny, limber wenches with long legs twirled seductively around elevated poles, while sweaty men whistled and slobbered below. Bizarre music that was, he supposed, to get his blood pumping and his coins flowing, but did nothing in particular for him. What might do it for him would be decent booze. A day of aimless wandering and soul searching is thirsty work.

His spirits picked up when his eyes alighted upon the bartender. The only pirate he knew to have more fastidious manners and hygiene than him and to never have broken his aristocratic nose. His bloody first mate.

"Starkey!" He called out joyfully. "Mate, what are you doing in this dive? Didn't Smee tell me that you were on the straight and narrow, teaching tall school or some such?"

"_High_ school and, _oui_, French, but the pay is none too good." His former crewman replied, beaming as he slapped a generously poured pint of ale down on the bar in front of him. "Nothing like our good ol' days, Cap'n. What are you doing here?"

"Aside from the obvious, you mean?" He gestured toward the stage with his frothing beverage.

"Aye."

Killian smirked, "Well, I'm resisting temptation by distracting myself with temptation while looking for temptation."

Starkey puzzled that out for a moment before declaring long-sufferingly, "You always were one for riddles."

"And you were not," he recalled nostalgically. He and Milah had had such fun torturing the man, and the man had patiently tolerated it out of respect for their lady and the Captain's love. He almost felt guilty for using him. But the bait must be laid.

"I am looking for a means to support myself that does not involve an honest day's work but is not of the pilfering persuasion. The good sheriff has in not so many words promised to turn my ship into kindling if I so much as nick a nickel."

Starkey let out a low whistle and cursed in a language that Killian did not understand but must have been this 'French' he had spoken of, before launching into a comradely diatribe against the sheriff's uptightness, which he more than half agreed with. His former first mate concluded his speech with: "But as for your financial woes, I can help with that, Cap'n. There's an underground game tomorrow night that I can set you up with. The stake is modest, but the pot will be worth your while."

"And the players?"

Starkey's shark-like grin spread across his face as he knowingly informed him, "Challenging enough not to make it boring, but not truly up to your skill level."

Killian flashed him his own cat-ate-the canary grin, before toasting him, "Starkey, mate, how have I missed thee."

The once-upon-a-time bootlegger barked an amused laugh, "You can count the ways by tipping your barman generously, _mi capitan_."

~0~

_Gwen's Apartment_

_The next morning..._

It was early for a Saturday morning, but if she was anything like the go-getting Tawny that he knew and suspected she still was, the lass would be awake. And even if she wasn't, it was her own fault for encouraging him to get involved in this mess.

So without an ounce of guilt he cheerily knocked on her lodging's door.

A few minutes and few incessant knocks later, she opened it wide and defiant, giving him an ample view of her pre-primped self. Her feet were clad in fuzzy lime green slippers. She was dressed in black cotton pants that would have showed off her curvaceous bottom nicely, if it weren't for her large gray cotton shirt that depicted an absurdly mustachioed knight and a ridiculous insult: 'Your mother was a hamster and your father was an elderberry.' (Hopefully, a hand-me-down from the apartment's previous lodger.) Her hair was adorably tussled. Her face was un-rouged but rosy, and her brown eyes were bright with annoyance.

"G'morning, love."

His merry greeting was met with a stony stare of displeasure. "You stole something of mine."

"Did I?" He asked with puckish innocence, as he attempted to slip past her.

Uncharmed, she blocked his path and held out her hand expectantly, "The photo, Jones."

Rocking back on his heels, he grinned unabashedly, "Pirate."

"I want it back."

"Sorry –" Shaking his head, he declared unashamedly, "No, I'm not. It's against my aforesaid vocation's creed. We have a strict no-refund, no-return policy."

The lass struggled to find a suitable reply, finally settling on a surly "Tosser." However, by that time, he had slipped past her and was shrugging out of his coat when he teased over his shoulder, "Ooh, my, my, my, Miss Tawny, have you not had your morning coffee?"

Firmly shutting the door, Tawny scowled in confusion, "How – Why – ?"

"You're channeling Swan with your face all scrunched and glowery. It's sad really. You used to be such a delight in the mornings before you became addicted to that vile stuff."

"Was there a purpose to this visit aside from the insults?"

Perching on a sofa arm, he answered with more seriousness, "Yes, we struck a bargain – lessons for info – if you do recall. I have a date with Lady Luck tonight, and if I am to do well I need to know if the rules of the games favored here are much different from home. I need to know the currency of this land and its various values, and I need to know all you know about my potential opponents. A list of which my former first-mate so kindly provided."

"And he couldn't provide the players' character references as well?" She asked skeptically, as she turned off the Tee-Fee-thing.

"He and I do not share _our_ bargain," he explained with a shrug, "and well, let's just say, Starkey isn't the brightest star in the sky."

Between the intimation that her intellect had more brilliancy and the mention of their partnership, (or perhaps it was both) finally disarmed her; for her posture suddenly relaxed and her sleep-tussled head dipped in a gracious nod, even as she asked, "And the other bargain? This would be a prime opportunity – "

Killian waved dismissively, "Yes, yes, yes. If I overhear any relevant information, I will relay it to you _and_ for the intangible reward of a good deed done. However, if further action is required, my price is a favor owed."

With barely a moment's hesitation, she thrust out her hand and asserted, "Agreed."

After their hearty handshake, the lass briskly announced, "Feel free to get breakfast if you haven't already. I'm going to make myself semi-decent, and then we'll get started. We have a lot to cover it seems."

~0~

_Guy's Gym_

_Late that evening..._

Killian was winning a modest tidy sum. He could have won more, but that is no way to make friends.

The game was being held in the corner office of the downtown gym. Not the most posh of places, but this wasn't a game for the high-rollers either.

His opponents consisted of a former duke with a monocle, a short dumpy fellow that had a sly look and a bulbous nose, a tall sneering chap with quite a few distinct cane-shaped scars, and two burly blokes that had no doubt been soldiers in their former lives. The two gents that he was the most interested in – a lean mean fellow and his equally 'shady' stout friend – had however slipped out for a "smoke break." Why they needed to go outside to do that, when none of the other players had any compunction about lighting up indoors, was what he wished to discover.

So he excused himself for a piss.

On the way to the loo, he 'managed' to get lost and in the course of 'getting his bearings' stumbled upon the missing pair, chatting just outside another empty office. Killian could overhear their conversation as the sound of their voices drifted into the room via the conveniently cracked open window.

"What are we going to tell her?" whimpered the stout one. "She wanted that pooch real bad."

"We're gonna tell her the truth," hissed the reedy one. "It was them goons of Driver and Stromboli that did it."

"But why would they need him?"

"_They_ don't, dummy. But Old King Baldy has a bone to pick with our employer. Or haven't you been paying attention?"

Tubby mumbled a reply, which Killian could not hear beyond "old bat" and "puce", but Reedy rasped, "Yeah, well, she pays top dollar for what we do, and she'll continue to do so when we find where they are keeping them."

Whatever the other gent's reply was Killian could not hear as the pair began to return to the game.

As Killian did the same, he bemusedly contemplated the fact that it seemed fate had dictated that his first contribution to the 'noble cause' was to stumble upon the Dognapping Caper Debacle. How paltry and trifling.

Although if he recovered the speckled beastie, his debt with the Cricket should be squared. Or rather, his debt with Conscience-personified would be cleared.

~0~

_Giselle's Salon_

_The very same evening..._

It was girls' night. Hallelujah.

Every other week Giselle had her and Ashley over for manis, pedis, facials, what-have-you's, and girly cocktails. (And yes, she still called them by their Cursed names. They were her friends then, and they didn't seem to mind now.) Tonight, she really needed the whole package – the pampering, the alcohol, the relaxation and laughter, and girlfriend support. A whole day of Killian in her tiny little flat was just too much.

First, her quiet morning routine of coffee, social network surfing, _Daily Mirror_ browsing, and _Good Morning Storybrooke _watching had been interrupted by his irritating pounding on her door. And then when she opened her door, Killian-bleeping-bloody-Jones had the audacity to give her blatant lingering once-over and then greet her with an obnoxiously innocent and cheery "G'morning, love."

To give credit where credit is due, the pirate did agree to help her with her vigilante quest, and once he commits to something, _he commits_. The problem was that he was so intense and challenging that she had struggled to keep up all day. Not something she was generally used to. But she would adapt.

She would. Just tomorrow. Right now she was luxuriating in the massage chair and sipping her berry sangria, while listening to Giselle and Ashley chatter about _their_ men problems.

At least until, Ashley turned to her and inquired, "So, Gwen, what's the story of you and Hook?"

Pulling the cucumbers off her eyes, she peered curiously at her friend before asking, "Is this my friend asking for her own curiosity or is this the friend of nosey Swan asking on her behalf?"

"A little of both," she sheepishly admitted. "After your arrest, she asked me all sorts of questions about you – what's your particular grudge against Regina, what your history is with Hook, what you have been up to since the Curse was broken – "

Before Gwen could protest, Ashley held up a half-polished hand, hastily explaining, "I know how you are about your privacy, so I only said that I as far as I knew you were busy with your job and occasionally helping me with Alexandra, and as for your business with Regina, that I didn't know of anything in particular, that I thought it was just on principle of the Curse and all. But as for Hook, I had no idea there was anything, which got me to thinking…"

At this Giselle asserted her two-cents, "Dangerous thing to do."

"Hush, peanut gallery," Ashley regally instructed as she flicked a nail file at the brunette pixie. To her, she promised, "I won't tell her anything that you don't want me to, you know."

"Thanks," was her heartfelt and relieved reply. It wasn't that she didn't trust these two women whole-heartedly – well, as much as she could trust anyone. It was just that she didn't know how much to say that wouldn't lead to more questions.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Giselle's impudent query, "So is he any good in bed?"

Both she and Ashley stared open-mouthed at her.

"What? He's mighty fine looking," the princess defended, adding as she gestured expansively with her margarita, "She spent the whole day with him today, locked up in her apartment. He's got that whole bad boy thing going for him, and if he's anything like my former jewel thief husband, he's got skills."

This latter point was emphasized with a toss of her hair and waggle of her eyebrows, prompting Gwen to laugh, "Oh honey, I'm glad your sex life is amazing, but please try not to fry my brain with your suggestive imagery tonight, will you?"

Giselle chortled, "Deal, but only if you dish and don't dodge anymore questions."

She nodded in acceptance and then explained, "I don't know if he's any good. Our story doesn't involve something as salacious as that. He helped me once, and I returned the favor, and our current story is that we have a mutual beneficial arrangement in which he tutors me in self-defense and I tutor him in the modern ways of this technological world." To Ashley, she stated, "And you can feel free to tell Sheriff Swan that, no hard feelings."

Ashley smiled in relieved gratitude, but Giselle simply pouted, "Well that's just plain boring. We're two old married women. We live vicariously through you, and you are failing us."

Snorting in dry amusement, Gwen recalled various failed blind dates she had been a victim of in the name of said 'vicarious living.' Her two favorites were the prince who was a mama's boy and whose mother wished her to prove her worth first, (puh-lease), and then there was the bandit chief and prince who failed to mention he was married and had a wife and son back in Munchkinland. "Speaking of living vicariously through others, what's the latest gossip?"

"I don't have juicy gossip, but I have news." Ashley volunteered; her tone of voice indicating it wasn't good. "Ruby's worse. Granny said that she became really agitated when Emma asked her to help track down Pongo the other night."

Heavy mournful silence hung in the air for several moments. It was only broken when Gwen quietly asked, "Did Emma raid Sadique D'Enfer's 'cottage'?"

This time it was Giselle who snorted, "Yeah, and found nothing, which the vampire bat was quick to come here and boast about. In that thick over the top accent, she loudly protested her innocence."

And then with a cuticle pick, she imitated the woman's exaggerated mannerisms to a tee – cigarette and all. "But I said to that Swan-girl, '_Daarrlling,_ my new motto is – if you can't beat them, you _must _join them.'" Dropping the pose, Giselle concluded viciously, "It was all I could do not to Fleet Street barber shop her ass."

"Tsk. Tsk. Such violence." She teasingly scolded, not sure whether to be more amused by her friend's macabre reaction or Ashley's stunned horror.

Topping off her drink with more berry elixir, she drolly bantered, "Turns you on, doesn't it, Gwenny?"

Needless to say, from there the conversation deteriorated.

As they were saying goodbyes for the night, Giselle whispered suggestively so only she could hear, "If you ever do tap that bad boy, pretty please, let me know if he keeps his hook on or not. I've always wanted to know."

Blushing profusely, she exclaimed in a stage whisper, "Good lord, woman! You've taken to this modern world far more than any lady I have met so far."

"Bah!" She waved her hand dismissively. "You would too if you had lived as sheltered a life as I had. Now that I have experienced freedom, I am not going to let any walls – be they ivory stone or noble decorum – cage me."

"If we hadn't drunk all the wine already, I would toast to that, my friend."

Raising her glass in salute, Giselle toasted with her best British pirate imitation: "Cheers, mate."

Gwen's farewell wave turned into The Bird as she walked away.

~0~

_The Jolly Roger_

_The following afternoon..._

She sat across from Killian at his cabin's table and nursed her temples. Too much information and not enough brain power at her disposal. She hoped Giselle had a bitch of a hangover.

"Okay. Okay," she muttered, as she began piecing together what they knew. "The bungling burglars of Madame De Vil lost Pongo to a con man accountant and an arcade gofer. Said accountant and stooge are under orders from King George, because he wants to hold Pongo as a hostage to force Cruella to do something, which we don't know. And we also don't know why she wanted the dog in the first place. Not for fur, because she seems to want him alive."

"That about sums it up," Killian confirmed. "Except this Jasper fellow said 'keeping _them_' which implies more than one."

"Well, there aren't a hundred other Dalmatians out there. I'm pretty sure I would have heard about it before now," she scoffed, and then waved her hand dismissively at his quizzical expression. She wasn't up to explaining yet another Disney reference.

"So what's the plan of attack, Mistress Vigilance?"

That moniker earned him a baleful stare.

"Don't appreciate that one, do you? Well, I suppose, it does smack of the whip-and-chains lady of the night, doesn't it?" He jocularly rambled.

Ignoring him, she mused aloud, "Well, I don't think we should tell Swan or the mayor until we have more to go on. If they move too soon, 'Old King Baldy' might decide to cut his losses."

"A likely outcome. They have that rather unfortunate tendency," the good captain wryly agreed, not bothering to elaborate on which 'they' or which 'tendency.'

"So we do what we do best – wait and watch, consider all angles, and then seize the opportune moment." She declared feeling more confident with each word and by the end of it grinning conspiratorially at him.

Raising a sardonic eyebrow, Killian teased, "So you'll be contacting those all-seeing and knowing maids of yours?"

She nodded, "Yes, to keep a weather eye out for unusual activity by Foxworthy, Harlequin, and any other King George associate, especially around places that would be ideal for hiding a dog and whatever else they have." She drummed her freshly-polished fingers on the table with one hand and with the other sent out a mass text just to do that, all the while adding, "And I'll see if I can narrow that down by checking property ownership with city hall records."

"And how will you do that?"

She just looked at him and then mockingly raised an eyebrow _at_ him.

Killian looked thoughtful for a moment, rubbing his scruff with his hook, before declaring dryly, "Ah, you know someone."

She nodded and grinned smugly. She did indeed know someone. Grimsby. Prince Eric's former manservant. His Storybrooke persona had him demoted to city hall archivist. She hoped for twenty-eight years he hadn't been filing the same thing over and over again. But for the small price of listening to him chatter about 'the good old days' she got to peruse the records room, which is how she kept on top of the business dealings of the wheelers-and-dealers, for even they were wary of earning the scrutiny of the all mighty IRS.

"If I am not mistaken, today is a day of rest in this land, so this records place would be closed." At her nod, he continued, "What then shall you do with your time? Take a nap? Have another right good romp with your lady friends?"

Rolling her eyes at his boyish leer, she answered, "How about a lesson from you? I do believe I am owed eight hours or so."

"Glutton for punishment, you are," he accused.

"Touché."

"Hmm, yes," he agreed with thoughtful satisfaction, and then he stood up and tossed her a short blade, asking, "But do you remember your _en garde_?"

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Do not own and do not receive any profits from this universe, storyline, or any characters within. That belongs to OuaT creators and co. and Disney.

**A/N: **Btw, I'm interested in your thoughts on Giselle and any other Disney characters portrayed or referenced so far.

Next Chapter: _Operation: Spotted Hound_


	8. Chapter 7: Operation: Spotted Hound

**Chapter 7:**

**Operation: Spotted Hound**

_The Jolly Roger_

_A few days later…_

As soon as she got the message from one of her little birdies, she called for a meeting with the captain. He counter-demanded that it be on his ship. In fact, he insisted that unless their business required her "why-fly", or their pleasure necessitated her "sinfully expansive bed", they were not to confine themselves in her "monk's cell of a flat."

It was no skin off her nose to acquiesce, so she agreed and came prepared with the blueprints to the fortress that needed to be invaded.

"And why does this gossip-rag dispensary need so much security?" Killian asked in disbelief.

"All sorts of reasons. The equipment would fetch a pretty price if sold piecemeal. The chemicals used for the ink are valuable and can be used for less than benign purposes," she explained offhandedly, her attention focused on the conundrum before her.

Suzy, Perla's sister, had noticed that Foxworthy had visited the _Daily Mirror_'s printing press facility after hours, when the publisher had gone home and had no need for his bookkeeping services. She had checked the records, and sure enough the newspaper had been bought by one Mr. Albert Spencer after Sydney Glass had been convicted of kidnapping. And Jefferson had confirmed that he had not only observed Foxworthy visiting unofficially, but also Harlequin.

It provided an ideal location for masking the barking and howling of an irate dog with the noise of the machines, and the chemicals would mask any canine scents, so even if a certain werewolf was up to tracking, she would not be able to detect poor Pongo.

But that didn't necessarily mean that it _was_ the location. And if she gave a false tip, the least of their problems would be the loss of credibility that the 'Concerned Citizen' would have. So…

"We need to get in there. We need to know if that blasted pup is there or what it is exactly that they are doing there."

"I know, lass."

She continued as if he hadn't spoken, anxiously nibbling her lip, "But if I get caught – "

"You'll be no use to anyone when it really matters," he interrupted impatiently, "_I know, Tawny_."

A small part of her was comforted by the knowledge that he understood, but she was so vexed with the feeling of helplessness that all that she could see was 'The Problem.' Gesturing with frustration at the blueprints, she continued her diatribe, "And judging from this, it will take us weeks to get the equipment and the skill level to get past all this, which I highly doubt we have time for."

"And if I get caught, there goes my reputation which is what you value most about me," was his acerbic self-deprecating interjection.

She didn't know if it was because she was feeling defensive from his accusation or if it was because he had said it with such cavalier bitterness, almost as if he believed that his villainy was all he was good for, but for whatever reason, she found herself snapping with irritation, "It is not what I value _most_, but it does make you bloody damn useful."

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the cabin. Her unthinking assertion left her wide open to all sorts reactions from the pirate, from sexual innuendos to probing touchy-feely sorts of questions. She could handle the one. But the other? The other she wasn't quite ready to ponder just yet. So she waited with bated breath.

He broke it with a dry chuckle, lightly commenting, "As much as I would love to explore that remark further with you, lass, I shall resist and instead ask: who is your alternative?"

"My alternative?" She parroted in true bafflement.

Sighing in exasperation at her slowness, he replied, "Yes, Rule #4: Always have – "

"An ace up your sleeve, or at the very least a stiletto. Yes, I know." She cut in with impatience. A lesson she had taken to heart, but not sure as to how it applied to the current situation. Waving her hand again at the blueprints, she asked, "What does that have to do with – "

Killian silenced her with an annoyed stare, chiding, "Charmed as I am that you remember the variant verbatim, darling, I was going to say, 'Always have a backup.'" At her apologetic nod, his intense blue gaze morphed into a piercing challenge, as he pointedly queried, "Who is your backup for me? The someone who has nearly my skill and know-how, who can do your dirty work, but who perhaps no longer has the nefarious reputation that makes me your first choice?"

It amazed her how perceptive he was at times. She did indeed have such a person. But she didn't want to ask for his help because if something were to go horribly wrong and he were to – if the unthinkable were to happen, she would be responsible for breaking his wife's, her friend's heart.

But he was perfect for this, and if she was anything, she was practical, so she reluctantly blurted –

"Fitz Conroy."

"The bartender of the Rabbit Hole?" he asked incredulously.

"He used to be a jewel thief. That was how he met Giselle – Rapunzel. His real name is Eugene Fitzherbert, or something ridiculous like that, so he prefers his Cursed-handle. Anyways, when he was Cursed, he was the locksmith who also moonlighted as a bartender to cover his gambling debts," She explained with a shrug.

"'Used to be?' I take it this lass, your friend, reformed him?"

"Yes, which is why he can't be my inside man."

"Because he's 'reformed' or because he's your friend's husband?" was his soft but incisive query.

Again, with that damn perceptiveness.

At her pained expression, he patiently suggested, "Tawny, it couldn't hurt to consult him at the very least."

She stewed on that for a while; her protective instincts at war with her pragmatism. Her pained expression must have softened at one point, because he then pounced with a knowing leer, "And even if that is all he does, we could still have him be our fall guy for the good deed, so that my _advantageous_ reputation stays intact."

She sighed in resignation. He had a fair point. The shrewd bastard.

"I'll call him."

~0~

_Storybrooke Woods – August's Trailer_

_The next afternoon..._

"Where did you get the _Mirror_'s security specs?" Fitz asked absentmindedly as he peered at the documents she had posted all over the interior of the tiny dwelling.

"The insurance company... sort of," she answered nonchalantly. At their puzzled looks, she explained further, "Insurance companies require proof that businesses like the _Mirror_ will protect big fancy equipment and chemicals like that."

"You hacked into an insurance company's system?" Fitz asked with raised eyebrows.

"Nah, I wish I had that sort of mad skills," she laughed wistfully. "But I did access Keith Reeves' email and downloaded the attachments that he sent to them, and I was only able to do that because I happen to know someone who knows where the former Nottingham sheriff and present security chief keeps his little black book of passwords."

Fitz grinned in understanding and looked impressed. That was the nice thing about having thieves and pirates as comrades. They didn't judge you when you made admissions like that.

"I'd be impressed too, lass, if I knew half of what you were saying," Killian half-quipped, half-complained.

Fitz looked as if he was going to try to explain, but she waved him off, "Let's save the techno-babble lesson for another day." When they both nodded in acquiescence, she tapped the plans and asked their security expert, "Can you get past these?"

"As long as they haven't updated anything," he assured confidently.

"From what Suzy was able to tell me, I gather the only change has been a few extra thug guards."

"Which is where I come in, I take it?" The pirate prompted, his eagerness for a fight slipping past his cool façade.

Resisting the urge to tell him 'Down, boy', she answered with amused patience, "Yes, if Fitz finds the dog, he'll need someone to distract the guards while he sneaks him out, and a pirate trying to raid the publisher's safe should do the trick."

The blighter made her wait. His dark head cocked to the side, carefully considering her and her plan, and acting as if didn't want to be more involved than he already was. She knew he did. She knew that he wanted to make those people who had hurt Milah's grandson pay. Finally, he agreed, saying "Alright, lass, but you'll owe me a favor."

"Aye," she agreed softly, fully recalling their bargain. She continued to hold his gaze, waiting for him to name the favor. He searched hers, looking for what, she did not know, but if it was evidence that she would renege on their deal, he had another thing coming.

Their stare down was clearly making Fitz uncomfortable, as she could see from out of the corner of her eye that he was nervously glancing back and forth between them. Eventually, he broke the silence by clearing his throat and stating, "Well, this is a good a time as any to mention my price, I think."

At his words, she and Killian swiveled in unison to focus their attention upon him. A lesser man might have been disconcerted by this, but Fitz stood his ground and asserted, "I want a solemn oath on something that you hold sacred that you won't tell Rapunzel that I have kept my hand in the business." Fixing his gaze on her, he gave a sheepish shrug, explaining, "My Cursed-self got bored and plotted how to break into several businesses, and I have sort of justified the continued fantasy scheming and self-education as being 'prepared' for days like this."

She let out a low laugh, "I am in no place to judge you, Fitz."

He bowed his dark head gratefully, but still insisted, "Nevertheless, that is my price."

"Upon my honor and me bonnie ship, I will not tell a soul." Captain Killian Jones solemnly swore, and then turned to look expectantly at her. She knew that he was waiting to see what she held as sacred as his honor and his vessel of freedom. He was always trying to _see_ her.

Ignoring him as best she could, she focused on her friend's husband, dug down deep, and promised softly, "Upon my mother's grave, your secret is safe with me."

And with that, the energy changed in the room. Fitz rubbed his hands eagerly together and declared, "Well then, here's the plan."

~0~

The plan went off without a hitch. Well, depending on what one defines as a 'hitch'. Conroy went in and did his thing. Bypassed the 'electronic eyes' and alarms, snuck past the gorilla guards, and made it to the storage closet in the basement, which is where both Tawny and Fitz thought King George's goons were hiding the dog.

And this is where the 'non-hitch' comes in.

Reedy's 'them' turned out to be a litter of puppies – and their wolf mother.

Killian had to give credit where credit was due. The reformed thief came prepared and shot the she-wolf with a tranquilizer dart, and then sent Tawny an update via her mini portable phone. She then sent him in with instructions to make as 'much of a racket as possible' – which he gladly did and did splendidly. For it was one of his greatest pleasures to make king's men look like the arses they are.

While he was schooling the brawny brutes, Conroy had improvised a crate for the pups, hauled the limp wolf out on his shoulders, and led the domesticated canine out of the building and loaded them onto the waiting van 'commandeered' from one of Tawny's neighbors. He then drove it to the docks after taking a roundabout route to make sure he wasn't followed so that they could unload the beasties onto the _Roger_, where her captain would sail them beyond town lines and keep them until Swan had dealt with the Devil woman. No point in rescuing them only to have them stolen again, or so Tawny argued. The lass owed him big time.

They had just locked the beasties away in his hold and were now making their way to the deck, when Conroy handed him his tranquilizer gun and cartridges. When Killian went to accept them, the man held his gaze, casually but yet pointedly observing, "So Gwen is of the impression that you and I are a lot a like – beneath all the selfishness, and in your case, revenge-seeking tendencies is a good man."

"If you are wondering, mate, whether or not I am going to sail away with the little monsters to sell them for me own profit…"

Conroy shook his head, "No, no, rest assured I am confident that in this case you are going to be an honorable man. Why else enlist me to help maintain your scoundrel rep? A cause I fully support, by the way. For what else does a man have besides his fake reputation, eh?"

"The point of this conversation is?" He replied with bored disdain.

Undeterred the man declared, "The point is that I don't know if you are truly a reformed villain or just playing the part for some longer game. I don't know what Gwen is to you exactly, but I do know that she is my wife's friend and therefore important to me." He then leaned towards Killian and menacingly promised, "And if you hurt her in anyway, you hurt my wife; and if you hurt my wife, I hurt you, savvy?"

Killian didn't particularly appreciate being threatened on his own ship or having his intentions towards Tawny questioned, but he could be magnanimous on this one occasion, since it was done on his golden lass's behalf. So instead of snarling and establishing the pecking order, he spoke truthfully and with matching solemnity, "Aye. But I suspect if I ever hurt Gwen the She-devil, I will have more than you to fear."

He then let a slow sly grin spread across his face, noting, "And your wife is much scarier than you, mate."

"Too right," Conroy shuddered in horrified agreement, and then more thoughtfully, "How are you guys going to help the fair Swan take care of the De Vil woman?"

Killian's responding chuckle had an evil quality to it, he could not deny, as he assured, "Oh, the wily lass has a plan for that too."

~0~

_Mayor's office_

_A week later…_

"So what did Madame De Vil have to say for herself?" Belle asked Emma as soon as she shut the woman's office door.

Killian had 'bargained' his way down from being charged with attempted burglary to trespassing at the _Mirror_ and being fined instead of imprisoned with the information that he had overheard the crazy old bat's henchmen gloat about recapturing Pongo from those who had stolen him from them in the first place – thieves who had been using the Dalmatian to blackmail the furrier.

When Emma had searched the woman's seaside cottage she found Pongo, much to the woman's astonishment. Her surprise hadn't been one of innocence, however, since in her shock she began demanding to know where the 'mottled mongrels' were.

Upon questioning, Cruella, Jasper, and Horace revealed that while she had been in Neverland, Pongo had escaped of his own freewill and had gotten friendly with a female wolf, who birthed a litter of speckled puppies, which they had discovered. This had given Cruella the idea to kidnap Pongo and a female wolf to breed them so that she could sell the new breed. She predicted that since Labridoodles and wolf-pups were all the rage, mottled wolf-pups would be a sensational hit. However, King George had gotten wind of the plot and stolen her ill-gotten stud to force her to fall in with his party line. As to what that was, she would not say. At least not unless…

"She'll talk, if we promise to drop all charges and let her quietly cross the town line."

Belle gazed back at her flabbergasted. "Wh-why? Why would someone _willingly_…?"

Emma shrugged, "She wants a fresh start. She was happy being Madame Sadique D'Enfer. She has opportunities out there that she doesn't feel she has if she were to return to the Enchanted Forest, whenever or if we ever get back there. And it has the advantage of being beyond King George's reach."

Belle shook her head sadly, "It just seems like we would be assisting her in committing suicide."

"That's one way to look at it." She shrugged again as she pointed out, "But if we don't drop the charges, she'll cross the town line anyways when state officials transport her to prison. This way we're giving her a second chance." She knew this was a bit manipulative. But she truly believed that De Vil had valuable information that she needed to get before King George silenced her.

Belle sighed morosely, "And we don't have the resources to keep her under lock and key indefinitely, do we?"

"And protected? No." Emma confirmed.

The mayor finally nodded, giving the go ahead with a quiet, "Make the deal."

~0~

Killian was overjoyed to see that Conroy's ugly mug as he came to transport the mongrels to the Animal Rescue Shelter. In the far and few silences between yaps, yips, and howls, he had plotted the perfect favor to call in. A punishment worthy of the crime, it was.

He was going to have Tawny clean out the _Jolly Roger_'s shit-covered hold.

* * *

**A/N:** Questions, Comments, Concerns?

Oh, yeah, and not mine.


	9. Chapter 8: Lessons and Confessions

**Chapter 8:**

**Lessons and Confessions**

_Gwen's apartment_

_A little over a month later…_

She sank into her tub, letting out a groan of part pain, part relief, and part ecstasy.

Her body was bruised and cut and sore. It hadn't been this worked over since – well, since her three and a half weeks with Captain Jones in the Forest. At this thought she mentally cringed at the innuendoes she could imagine him voicing if she ever admitted that in his hearing.

After she had cleaned out his defiled hold, they had arranged to meet every other day for lessons that consisted of warm-up exercises, mock-fights which ended in her 'death', dinner, and her attempt to teach the old sea dog new tricks. On top of all this, she was working full time, keeping in touch with friends, and helping Eric search for Ariel, while trying to keep track of criminals such as Foxworthy.

Needless to say, it wasn't just her body that needed this time for rest and rejuvenation but her mind and soul as well.

As her muscles slowly began to be soothed by the heated water, she let go of her worries about the lost mermaid and the insidious drug ring, accepting the fact that there was nothing more that she could do. In the vacuum, her mind drifted to the lost, lonely girl of a year ago.

After her crying jag, she had picked herself off that basement floor and had headed for the town watering hole, in desperate need of a drink. Before she had reached Main Street, she had been accosted and hugged to near asphyxiation by Ashley, Suzy, and Perla, and a few days later, Giselle and Ruby tracked her down. A day hadn't gone by since when at least one of them had checked in with her and/or invited her to sleep on their couch – all proving how wrong she was to think that she was alone and unloved. Even now, every single one of them had asked her about her relationship with Hook, making sure he wasn't exploiting her in some way.

It was a good thing that they were not trying to hide the fact that he was teaching her how to fight, or she would have a devil of a time trying to explain away her bruises.

And this thought of course led her to the rabbit trail of Killian Jones. She could explain to her friends what he was _doing _for her, but she had yet to come up with an explanation of what he _meant_ to her.

Sighing to herself, she took a fortifying sip of wine and then attempted to do just that, letting the memories of their interactions wash over her.

~0~

_The Jolly Roger_

_A few days after the Great Pooch Escape …_

"There. It's done. All clean and smelling lemony fresh," she declared, as she stripped off her gloves and tossed them into the waste basket.

As she swept past the ship's captain to fresh air, he bowed grandly and murmured, "Thank you kindly, love."

"A deal is a deal." She brushed his gratitude off. Truth was she had felt guilty for forcing the furry critters on him, and even though it was literally a crappy favor to call in, he could have asked her for something far worse. Not that she was going to let him know any of this. He might get ideas.

The pirate was not to be deterred however. He persisted, asserting, "Yes, but the service can still be appreciated, love, and for the 'lemony freshness', how about dinner on me with the last of my hard-earned winnings? At Granny's?"

"Not Granny's." she hastily and reflexively snapped. Before he could explore her reluctance, she continued with forced indifference, "And not tonight. I'm going home to shower and sleep. I'm exhausted."

"Exhausted? The hold wasn't that bad, lass."

Shooting him an exasperated look, "Yes, well, I worked today, cleaning City Hall, and then I worked out at the gym before that."

"Ah, I take it you have begun resuming the exercises I taught you?" He asked. His blue eyes positively twinkled with devilish delight.

"And then some yeah." She acknowledged as she rolled her stiff shoulders. He noticed of course.

"Well, in that case… enjoy your shower and sleep," the 'gallant' captain oh-so-graciously permitted, before adding suggestively, "And if you need someone with clever fingers to rub _oily_ stuff into your sore muscles, you know where to find me."

She limited her response to an eye roll.

~ **E*** **N** * **C** * **H** * **A** * **N** * **T** * **E** * **D ~ F** * **O * R * E * S * T ~**

_~On the road to the Queen's castle ~_

"Tell me, lass, why do you think I was able to trounce those brutes so easily?"

She opened mouth, quickly snapped it shut, and then answered hesitantly, "Because you were faster and more skilled."

"Yes. They have relied heavily on their strength and length of limb and have not bothered increasing their speed or finesse. Many men fall to this trap, which you can use to your advantage." At her nod of comprehension, he resumed his lecture, "Your goal is not to trounce, but to strike hard and fast so that you injure them just enough for you to run away and run faster than them."

"So I am to fight to run away, is that it?"

"Aye, lass," he agreed with a nod, and then eyeing her up and down, he qualified, "But you will not be successful at either in your current condition."

She glanced down at herself, noting, "The skirts are a bit cumbersome, I'll admit but – "

His dry chuckles cut her off. "It's not the skirts, Tawny – well, not _just _the skirts."

"Well, what then?" She asked, truly baffled.

"You're as scrawny as any landlubber-urchin-turned-cabin-boy I've ever seen," was his forthrightly insulting reply. At her frown, an evil grin spread across his face, as he promised, "But don't worry. I have a surefire method to make you as agile as a rigger and swift as a powder monkey."

"How much am I going to hate this?" She asked warily, not entirely sure what those terms meant, and most definitely not liking his look of anticipated diabolical pleasure.

"I don't know." Up went the eyebrow in wry amusement. "How much do you hate heights?"

If she didn't before, she did after, and she certainly hated him, for she climbed trees for two days straight. Halfway through the first day, she was cursing him with every labored breath, including ones she had added to her repertoire from his stories about the gunny who first trained him.

Her silent, or not so silent, diatribes usually included something along the lines of "Relentless, charming, _hunan leddfu_, scabrous codpiece of a bastard…"

And the only thing he objected to was being "cod anything."

~ **S*** **T** * **O** * **R** * **Y** * **B** * **R** * **O** * **O * K * E ~**

**_~Jolly Roger~_**

"What is the goal of a fight?" Captain Inquisitor fired at her in greeting.

Recalling her lesson from ages ago, she put her own unique spin on it, firing back, "To fuck-up and flee."

"Really, lass, you don't need to prove anything to me." He mildly reproached her.

She grinned unrepentantly, "Couldn't resist the alliteration, Captain."

It was sweet of him to say so though. And endearingly adorable that he was so bothered by her wench-like speech. It was as if he saw her as _more_, as a true lady.

Interrupting her thoughts, he began the day's lecture with, "When you're in a fight, you only have a few seconds and a few moves to try before it's decided. Before your attacker gets full control of you, you must do everything you can – trip, drag, and/or throw to the ground – conserving as much energy as possible for your flight to safety."

"And by 'conserve energy', you mean use their momentum against them?"

Killian nodded and then challenged, "Now show me, and remember to keep your hands up to protect that bonnie face of yours."

~ **E*** **N** * **C** * **H** * **A** * **N** * **T** * **E** * **D ~ F** * **O * R * E * S * T ~**

_~First night on journey to Queen's castle~_

They had stopped earlier than she expected, since there was still daylight left. The captain's reasons were soon made clear when after camp was set up, he had tossed her a de-branched stick and said:

"Before we start, lass, you need to accept the fact that I will hurt you. It's best you learn how to deal with pain, because in a real fight, there is no avoiding it."

She nodded, absorbing it all like an eager sponge.

"And you must not be squeamish about hurting me. I know it will be difficult. I am after all the one and only Captain Killian Jones." He said this with his chest puffed out and a knowing leer twitching at the corner of his lips. The moment of levity quickly vanished when he concluded with fierce insistence, "But you must. For it is either hurt or be hurt."

She nodded a second time, accepting at least intellectually his ominous warning.

"Now let's see what we have to work with."

And then he swung his own hastily fashioned stick at her.

She did her best to parry his attacks, drawing on her memories of all the sword fights she had witnessed, and attempted to get past his defenses, and she nearly did until he kicked a loose log from the fire, launching it at her legs.

So surprised was she that she didn't even let loose her customary string of curses. However once the embers were stamped out, she accused angrily, "Bad form!"

"Yes, but not everyone out there is me or a knight of the round table, love…" She flinched at that. His reproach sending her thoughts in a million directions, but she was thankfully able to rein them in to hear him say, "… Rule #1: never _ever_ fight fair."

And that was when she knew that she couldn't have found a better mentor. No backstabbing nobility here. No, when this man eventually betrayed her, it wouldn't be couched in moral platitudes but straightforward and unapologetic self-interest. How refreshing.

"There is another lesson to be learned from this, lass. Can you not identify it?"

She gave this careful consideration, mentally going over each bit of their mock-fight and pondering their implications. Finally, she guessed, "I should be on the lookout for potential threats aside from the stick or 'sword' coming at me?"

His blue eyes lit with respect, but his mouth chided, "Lass, don't be a sheep. Be a wolf. How would a wolf phrase that?"

She shoved the humiliation of being called one of the dumbest of prey animals aside and thought about what he said. When she had her answer, she jutted out her chin and asserted, "I should be on the lookout for weapons that _I_ can use against my opponent as well as what he can use against me, aside from the ones in our hands."

"Yes, use everyday objects. Even dirt can be advantageous. A handful of it thrown in your attacker's eyes can give you a momentary edge." When she nodded in understanding, he concluded, "'Be ever aware of your surroundings' is Rule #3."

Before she could ask what the second rule was of this fascinating list, he murmured almost to himself, "And that includes counting the shadows."

~ **S*** **T** * **O** * **R** * **Y** * **B** * **R** * **O** * **O * K * E ~**

She was locking up all her cleaning supplies and making sure everything was in its place so that Mrs. Boyd wouldn't accuse her of negligence or theft, when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye – a dark silhouette, that shouldn't have been there.

Being careful not to let on that she was aware of its presence, she finished her task. However, instead of pocketing her keys, she laced them through her fingers. And when the looming presence charged her from behind, she stepped into his path and pivoted. Her left arm knocked aside the upraised arm, and her right slashed at her attacker's face.

She missed.

But only because it was Killian and with his crazy cat-like reflexes and agility was able to somehow lean back far enough to dodge her swipe. When he straightened, the cocky blighter quipped cheekily, "Ooh, the kitten has claws."

And so his unfortunate nickname for her was born.

~0~

"What do you mean currency is no longer based on gold? What is it based on?" The pirate cried out in astonishment.

They had been discussing how much he could expect to receive for his valuables from a neighboring town's pawn shop (as he could obviously not go to Gold's), when they became diverted by this topic.

Trying not to laugh at his bewildered outrage, she stoically explained, "I'm no economic expert, but I know that our current system allows for the government to declare what is legal tender, giving it more power to manipulate and stabilize the markets. Or so the theory goes."

"Lunacy," he scoffed, bitterly remarking, "In my experience government leaders are untrustworthy."

Unable to stop herself, she smirked, "So sayeth the pirate."

"No. So says Killian Jones." He darkly denied.

Eyeing him speculatively, she mused, "Someday, Jones, I would like to hear what turned you freelancing buccaneer."

His gaze immediately grew distant, and the Look – the Milah/Neverland Look as she had begun to call it – settled into place, before he softly replied, "Someday."

~0~

"Has Emma or her father taught you how to handle our guns?"

"Charming did. He was a real mate and did a demonstration of disassembling, cleaning, assembling, unloading, and loading, while I was in lock-up one evening. Wiled away the hours, it did." He cocked his eyebrow, asking both curiously and suggestively, "Why? Did you want to give me a demonstration on how to properly _handle_ my weapon?"

She snorted and nearly spewed her drink at his innuendo-gone-wrong. Once her surprised spluttering stopped, she snickered, "Jones, mate, word of advice – don't make suggestive quips about 'handling' after mentioning lock-up, especially after relating that a male gave you a 'demonstration' _while_ in lock-up."

Comprehension didn't dawn until she made a _very_ rude gesture; at which he grimaced and muttered "Thanks, love," rubbing his face with his hand as if to erase the image from his mind. After moment of awkward silence, he prompted, "So was there a reason…?"

"Reason? Oh, um, just trying to cross off stuff on my list to teach you."

"There's a list?" He asked in amused disbelief.

"Yeah, so far we've covered computers, cameras, currency, phones, satellites, and the grid, but we also have banking, trace evidence and forensics, kitchen appliances – so that there is no repeat of metal in the microwave – " The fearsome pirate blushed a little at that and tried to defend himself, but she just blazed on. "And then we need to discuss medicine, drugs – the over the counter kind and the back alley kind, and – "

Holding both his hand and hook up as if to ward her off, he pleaded, "I get the picture, love. There's a list." He waved his hook in her general direction, declaring, "What I want to know is if pistol training was on that list."

"Yes, it was, as well the topics of automatic rifles."

"Charming included that in his lecture," he dismissed with yet another wave his hook. "So if you know how to shoot a gun, why is it that you are so interested in learning dirty pirate fighting tricks?"

She shrugged, "Lots of reasons. One, we won't always be here, so sword fighting and close quarter combat will be more relevant. Two, I'm slightly near-sighted, so any by-standers to any exchange of gunfire I participate in would be in grave danger. Three, it's just not my thing."

"Not your 'thing'?" Both eyebrows went up this time, either in confusion or in disbelief.

"Not my thing, not my preferred choice of weapon, not my style," she clarified.

"Huh, that surprises me," he mused. "I would have thought with you being the queen of anonymity and aloofness, you would have preferred the emotional distance that a gun provides."

Trying not to squirm under his penetrating stare, she contended, "Well, maybe it's for that very reason that I do not."

This elicited a delighted smirk, "So you are saying that you enjoy violence of a more _intimate_ nature?"

At first she didn't know how to respond, because it was so very true. When she landed a good punch, when she drew a little blood, or when she was pressed up against him, pinning him down in their training matches, she felt a tingle of pleasure that she got from very few things – stain removal, chocolate, outwitting bastard rogues, chocolate, a good cuppa, mind-blowing sex, and chocolate. But to admit that he was right? Aloud?

"What I am saying is that I gain satisfaction from mastering new skills previously thought impossible for the 'weaker sex', and literally 'sticking it to the man' is emotionally rewarding."

Killian stared thoughtfully at her from across the galley table. When she was just about to squirm like a bug under a microscope, he mused with heavy resignation, "I'd ask who the imbecilic oaf was that belittled you and made you feel weak, but I don't think I'll get an answer."

Shaking her head, she softly answered, "Someday."

~ **E*** **N** * **C** * **H** * **A** * **N** * **T** * **E** * **D ~ F** * **O * R * E * S * T ~**

_The Training Meadow_

_Two weeks in Queen's employ..._

"Tawny lass, you're a quick study. I am not too proud to admit that you have picked up the art of parrying faster than I did as a lad."

They had stopped their mock battle for a quick water break. It was a mercy that she was extremely grateful for, as she was dripping with sweat and aching from head to toe.

It had been a long grueling week. The castle's housekeeper was a slave driver. The castle's décor maybe dark and dreary to match the heart of its mistress, but by hell or high water it was not going to be dirty as well – or so she imagined her overseer's mantra to be.

And today, even though it was her day off, was no less arduous. Captain Killian Jones was a harsh taskmaster. After meeting on the outskirts of town, they had headed for this obscure picturesque meadow. All the way there he had peppered her with questions, squeezing her for every minute detail of castle life, looking for its exploitable weaknesses. And then he had her go through a series of 'warm up exercises', followed by 'muscle-toning' and 'speed-improving' exercises, which was then followed by a lesson in footwork, stances, defense positions, attack and counter-attack strategies. All of which she was challenged to try.

His compliment, however, was _not_ appreciated, for she suspected that she would not like what was to follow.

"I sense a 'but' coming…"

Her mentor – nay – tormentor smirked. "Not all attackers will use a long blade. The most cowardly attackers of women favor the knife, and – gods forbid – that you do not have one of your own up your sleeve or in your boot as per Rule #4, you need to learn how to defend yourself against such an attack."

Biting back the urge to snark 'No shit, Jones', she prompted with all the civility that she could muster, "I'm all ears, Captain."

His eyes narrowed, picking up on the impatience she was trying to mask, but he carried on without comment, saying, "He'll most likely attempt to shove you back with his fore hand and then stab you with his aft hand. This will allow his shoving arm to protect his face, as you will not be able to hit it without getting stabbed. The best response is to knock this arm down and then immediately move forward to secure the knife arm, yanking it into an elbow lock, which will allow you to either break the arm or strip him of his knife."

They of course practiced this maneuver, repeatedly. At first, they did so in slow motion and then faster and faster, until she was able to get the knife away from him in real time.

But was that the final lesson? Oh no. This pirate operated on a code and welching on a bargain with a _lady_, no less, was probably forbidden; rule number fifteen or something.

Not that she was truly ungrateful. It was her exhaustion that was whining. No, she found it oddly endearing that the pirate was taking his role as her defense master so seriously. She also felt flattered that he thought she was worth all this effort, that he saw her as _capable_.

So capable that the final lesson was on how to kill.

"Now, if you do have a knife and someone comes at you, you swing your arm up and block his attack, get in close, and then you thrust your blade into his heart, all the way to the hilt. You hold it there until the light leaves their eyes. Do not waver. Can you do that, lass?" His eyes searched hers, looking for doubt or hesitation.

With her chest pressed against his, she could feel his heart's steady beating, and she imagined being the cause of its stopping. Sadness welled up within her at the idea. But if she imagined it to be a faceless assailant or one of the trapper brothers or one of Regina's soldiers, she felt nothing. Did that make her a 'bad' person? She did not know. She did know that she could truthfully answer, "Aye, I can."

Her man-in-black nodded in grim satisfaction.

~ **S*** **T** * **O** * **R** * **Y** * **B** * **R** * **O** * **O * K * E ~**

**_~The former playground~_**

"Dead." Killian declared for the nth time. In this instance, he had tripped her and she was flat on her back with him pinning her there with a knife held to her throat. "Now if I didn't have a knife to your throat, how can you get out of this?"

She thought back to all of her other lessons. "Bring you in closer?"

"Good. And then?" He prompted.

After a brief moment of contemplation, she smirked gleefully, "And then I top you."

Rolling his eyes, he dryly confirmed, "Yes, lass, that is the general idea," and then he returned her smirk, shamelessly asking, "Shall I show you how to get a man on his back?"

Without waiting for her to come up with a suitable retort, he instructed, "Hook onto his wrist with one hand and use your other to grab behind his elbow, trapping his arm to your chest, like so…"

She did so, and immediately regretted flirting with him; thoughts of nibbling on enticing lips or ears were so distracting that she nearly missed his next statement.

"…And then you'll trap his foot and leg with your foot…" She moved her leg as indicated. "…Lift your hips and then flip over onto your knees…"

When he was on his back, he concluded, "And now you can have your way with him."

Ignoring him, she asked, "And what do I do if he does have a knife to my throat?"

Killian's blue eyes darkened to ominous black, as he harshly instructed, "Don't." He harshly instructed. "Don't let it get to that point, Tawny lass, because by then, you do whatever he wants."

Staring into his blue eyes, which had now darkened to ominous black, she couldn't help but be moved by the fervent plea that she saw there and heard in the despair-filled rasp of his voice. She was both delighted by his fear, (for it meant that he cared for her), and was pained by it. She wanted to ease his distress, as easily as she could smooth his furrowed brow.

But that was his demon to fight, not hers, so she merely nodded in understanding, before getting off of him and preparing for the next round.

Three rounds later, she wasn't feeling so magnanimous, and although she wished to offer him a helpful suggestion concerning his finances, she wanted to deflate his ego a little in the process as well, so she verbally jabbed with a teasing, "Ya know…Jones, if you're bad luck continues at the tables and you need a paying day job – "

"I will not be a swabbie on top of your 'meddlesome maid'!" He protested vehemently. "No matter how much the thought of me in an apron on all fours and covered in suds turns you on."

"Kinky." She remarked dryly, before pressing on. "But no, I was going to suggest that you take on a few more students like me, except they pay for it with cashy-money. I know a few women who would prefer not to have to depend upon a knight-in-shining-armor to come to their rescue, as they are in rather short supply these days."

After brief thoughtful pause, in which his head was cocked to the side in contemplation, he asserted, "That's not a bad idea, lass."

"Don't sound so surprised."

"That you thought of something so clever? Never. It's just that I wish I had thought of it first."

She felt herself blush but was able to laugh it off with a dry chuckle. "Oh my, thanks for the ego boost. I needed that after getting my ass whooped for the – what is it now? – 83rd time?"

Killian's smile was indulgent, as he encouraged kindly, "You are too hard on yourself, lass. It is taking me far longer to best you each and every time. Eventually, you will best me, and then we'll celebrate."

"Ha!" She scoffed. "If we're not two old people in a nursing home drinking all our food out of a straw, then I want cake – Granny's sinful double chocolate fudge with raspberry filling to be precise."

"As you wish."

~0~

She was early to her lesson with Killian. Ashley and Thomas had decided to eat in and instead of going out after their council meeting, and so she wasn't needed as late as she had expected to babysit Alexandra.

Before she was in range of hailing the captain for permission to board his ship, she saw _them_ – the captain and the lad.

Killian was standing behind Henry with hook and hand on his shoulders while the boy was attempting to use the sextant. They were so engrossed in their navigation lesson that they didn't see her come aboard. Not wanting to interrupt, she crept past the creaky boards and halfway up the steps to the quarterdeck, so that she could observe them unnoticed.

She couldn't hear what they were saying, but when Henry turned around and said something to his step-grandfather/honorary uncle, the man beamed down at him with pride.

It was a beautiful expression. There was no smirk in sight, no sardonic lop-sided grin. His lips stretched wide revealing his pearly whites. His eyes crinkled at the corners. His blue irises gleamed brightly with unabashed emotion, a mixture of delight and affection.

It did funny things to her innards.

More importantly, it made the kid's day. His wide and contented grin never disappeared after that, making her cheek muscles hurt in sympathy, and he had a bounce in his step all the way out to Emma's yellow Bug, when she came to pick him up.

She had to use her indignation at Swan's suspicious scowl to wipe the silly grin off her face.

~0~

She was feeling calm and content and oh-so-full as she gazed up at the stars. They had finished a grueling lesson, and she had outright refused to move from her spot on the deck. She was too sore and tired, to even go below to consume the food that Killian had tried to entice her with. She did however manage to rouse herself when he had brought up the heavenly banquet from Granny's – a true Southern feast of fried chicken and buttery sides – setting it out picnic style.

She had devoured it all, except for the wine which he had served in intricately carved coconut shells. That, she was savoring.

"Thank you, Jones. That was much better than the canned soup I had planned at home."

"Mhmm. Sounds…_appetizing_, love."

She laughed softly, "Not really. But next time, I'll bring over some Cajun food. I have a neighbor who is always trying out new recipes on me. She's a bloody genius when it comes to spices."

"I'm always game for new experiences, but there's other ways you can repay the favor, lass, if that is what you are trying to do."

She kept her gaze locked on the starry sky, avoiding his piercing stare. She knew he was staring at her. She could feel it, and judging by the absence of suggestiveness that usually accompanies such a comment, it was not the impudent, leering ogle that he favored and which she would have preferred. And that fact alone sent her walls flying up so instantaneously that all she could manage in reply was a simple, cautious "Oh?"

"You can tell me a secret. I'll even give the choice of which one." He replied, sounding so proud of his generosity.

She sat up to face him. The gauntlet had been thrown, and she refused to shrink back from a challenge, but she could not keep the wariness that she felt hidden as she asked him, "What would you like to know?"

His gaze met hers. It was both intensely scrutinizing and sincerely compassionate, as he admitted "I would like to know why you don't like to go into Granny's and/or what happened to your mother."

The air rushed out of her in a single gust just as if he had physically sucker-punched her but also with relief. He wanted much but he did not want all. At least not yet.

Shrugging, she replied, "Well, the answer about Granny's is simple enough. I don't like crowds."

"Former tavern wench," he baldly called what he thought was her bluff.

"Key word was 'former'," she defended.

At his disappointed look, she continued with forced breeziness, "But, I suppose, you want the reason as to my ochlophobia?"

"Yes, lass." He blandly asserted, ignoring the rabbit trail of Greek terminology.

"Well, you will have to do much better than fried chicken for that tale." She quipped. More seriously, she asked, "Why do you wish to know about my mother?"

His head cocked to the side, as he softly defended, "It's only fair, kitten. I told you of Milah."

She nodded. She could respect that. He had revealed one of his deepest wounds, to a stranger. The least she could do was reveal one of hers, to her partner.

~ **E*** **N** * **C** * **H** * **A** * **N** * **T** * **E** * **D ~ F** * **O * R * E * S * T ~**

They had made it through the Endless Wood. And tomorrow she was going to stick her head in the proverbial noose for this mysterious dark stranger. Taking another fortifying sip of her 'liberated' wine, she took her eyes off their fire and turned to her companion, asking the question that she had been avoiding for the past three days.

"So what vile offense did Rumplestilstkin commit against you to warrant this tragic quest?"

"What? Haven't the tavern tales you've heard told you?" The infamous captain sneered, waving his hook in the air. "The Crocodile took my hand."

She snorted, arguing. "That hardly merits centuries of hatred and bloodlust. Especially," she nodded to his hook, "As you're an adaptable fellow. Now if he had taken another more _significant_ extremity, I could understand."

She did not get the laugh she expected, nor even a grimace. Instead, she was met with narrowed eyes and a suspicious query, "Why the sudden interest, love?"

Shrugging, she replied honestly, "Well, if I am going to be risking the Queen's wrath, I figured I at least out to know what motivates my partner."

His gaze momentarily shifted to fixate on the flickering flames but then he faced her head on, asking poignantly, "Have you ever been in love, lass?"

The question was so out of the blue that she could not hide from him how much it distressed her. As she tried to stuff all of her old issues back in their box, she could feel herself nibbling her lip and hear herself replying with equal distance, "I could have been, if given the chance."

She knew her response intrigued him, but he thankfully pressed on, saying grimly, "Then perhaps you'll understand a fraction of my pain. I was in love once. She was adventurous. She was bold. And she was a good woman. She left her ignoble husband and their son for a life with me. He couldn't forgive her for that, and so he ripped out her heart and crushed it in front of me. She died in my arms."

For a moment, she had nothing to say. There was nothing to say. No magic words could ever ease that kind of pain and loss. And she suspected that he didn't want it eased. Without it he would have no purpose.

As she absorbed the magnitude of his loss, her gaze left his and drifted down, which was when she saw him rubbing his arm where his tattoo was. It was of a heart stabbed by dagger wrapped in a ribbon with what she assumed was a woman's name. She had seen it earlier when he had helped her over a fallen tree earlier today.

"Is she the Milah of your tattoo?"

"Aye."

"Well then," raising her flask, she toasted, "Here's to Milah."

~ **S*** **T** * **O** * **R** * **Y** * **B** * **R** * **O** * **O * K * E ~**

"My mother was the best woman I have ever known. She was strong and independent and kind and patient and compassionate. She brooked no non-sense." She declared wistfully. "Oh the stories of the shenanigans she caught me at …"

Memories flooded her, bittersweet and precious. She pushed them aside before they swept her away and continued with her tale of woe. "She was struck down by the plague just before I entered womanhood. It was so random and unexpected. No one knew how she had gotten it, as she had been avoiding anyone who had been near the afflicted towns. But everyone else had their theories," she noted resentfully. At his quirked eyebrow, she explained, "I am a bastard child. My father was a married man of … of some consequence."

She hedged that last bit, for there was no need to go into that pesky detail as he had only asked about her mother. If he noticed, he chose not to inquire. Instead he filled in the blanks, stating knowingly, his voice tinged with outrage, "And they attributed her sickness as divine punishment."

Comforted by his indignation on hers and her mother's behalf, she admitted, "Yes, but I didn't believe it then. There were far more deserving people in need of divine retribution than my mother."

"But now?"

"No, I don't believe it now either. I know what happened now." Taking a large gulp of wine, she shared aloud to the first person ever the horrifying truth, "My father's shrew wife struck a deal with the fey witch, told her my mother's true name so that she could curse her."

"Oh, lass," he murmured.

At this she finally looked at him, letting him see past her walls, letting him see the bitterness, the pain, the molten anger that had once burned raging bright, and confessed, "If the woman hadn't been long since dead and hadn't suffered incredibly so in the process by the time I met you, I would have taken the skills you taught me and set out on my own quest for vengeance."

As she stared at him, she could tell that he had a thousand more burning questions. But rather than asking a single one, he poured her another cup of wine and then raised his own saying, "To your mother."

~0~

_Present_

What was Killian Jones to her?

He mourned with her. He challenged her. He infuriated her. He cared for her. He was the man who believed in her. He _saw_ her, warts and all, and kept trying to see more, seeming to think that she was worth the effort. No one had ever thought so before or had had the stamina or stubbornness to persist in finding the chinks in her armor.

Granted, he hadn't bothered to inquire as to what had happened to her after their storm-the-castle gig, he was self-centered like that. But she didn't mind. She was both ashamed and grateful for what happened and didn't need him exposing that part of herself just yet.

All in all though, he was her friend.

Now if benefits were to come with that, she wouldn't turn it down, for he was a mighty attractive relentless, charming, perceptive scoundrel. But if not, she could be content to simply be the mildly flirtatious friends that they were.

She hoped that he knew that she had his back. For she knew he had hers. Of that she was certain like she had never been of anyone else.

And that meant the world to her.

* * *

**A/N:**

Translation: _hunan leddfu = _'wanking' in Welsh

Definition (courtesy of wiktionary): ochlophobia = "A phobia or fear, of mob-like crowds, as opposed to simply open spaces like agoraphobia or large crowds as with enochlophobia."

Kudos to anyone who caught the Doctor Who reference or the nod to Disney's Princess Tiana.

And as always...Not mine and please review, pretty please ; )


	10. Chapter 9: Origin Story

**A/N: **

Welsh Translations:

_-Basderddyn = '_little bastard'

_-Basdarddes =_ 'female bastard'

**Disclaimer: **Eddy and Adam own and are the creative geniuses; I, in comparison, do not own and am only an inspired village idiot. Enjoy my humble contributions...

* * *

**Chapter 9:**

**Origin Story**

_Storybrooke Docks_

_A few weeks later…_

She was in the zone. She had yet to let Killian past her defenses. She parried and counter-parried, attacked and counter-attacked, riposted and counter-riposted, and dodged his hook all over the ship's deck, from stern to bow and even occasionally entangled in the rigging. Their bout had made its way down the gangplank, up the pier, past Leroy's boat, and was presently at the very edge of the pier.

She was so in the zone that it took her a moment to realize that her blade had successfully whipped over his, disarming him, and was now pointed at his throat.

With his arms in the air in the universal gesture of surrender, he quipped, "Well, lass, shall I be walking the plank or will ye be accepting my surrender?"

She shot him a suspicious look, asking him doubtfully, "You yield?"

"Aye, I yield. I gave it my all, and you got me, love," he sighed ruefully. His chagrined expression was somewhat marred by the proud grin that was threatening to spread across his face.

She lowered her blade and backed away. When he made no move to go on the offensive, she relaxed and returned her sword to its sheath, and then began her victory dance, chanting triumphantly, "I did it! I did it! I bested the great Captain Hook!" And if that wasn't childish enough, she threw herself at him and hugged him, exclaiming, "Thank you!"

The defeated captain awkwardly patted her back, but graciously declared, "It was all you, kitten. Shall we celebrate?"

Pulling away and checking her watch, she grimaced. "I can't now. I'm already late for work. How about tomorrow?"

"That's fine. It will give me time to have that cake of yours made."

At the word cake, all thoughts of triumph or tardiness disappeared, and her mouth began to water, as she dreamily murmured, "Mm. Chocolate…"

Killian laughed, cautioning teasingly, "Careful there, kitten. You're beginning to drool."

She opened mouth but then quickly closed it, as she was unable to muster up a suitable retort. Grinning (for she couldn't stop), she admitted, "Right now I'm in too good of a mood to tell you off."

Unsurprisingly, his supply of droll retorts was seemingly endless, as he leered roguishly, "Hmm, more's the pity. I get all _aquiver_ and _tingly_ when you're in a chastising mood."

"I'm sure you do," she snorted before leaning up and kissing his cheek, "But you're going to have to be unstimulated today."

"Your friend was right – " he called out after her as she walks away. "Draw a little blood and you get positively… _affectionate_!"

Tawny's only reply was to give him a jaunty farewell wave.

~0~

_Main Street, outside of Granny's_

_The next evening…_

Ever since she had bested Killian the day before, she had been riding a high. For once, she was purely content. The town villains had done nothing to rain on her parade. Her friends were safe and coming to celebrate her achievement at the Rabbit Hole. Fitz had even promised her a drink on the house. Alexandra had called her 'Auntie Wen' and given her a kiss when she saw her at her grandpa's. It was a beautiful sunny day, and Killian was buying her cake and attempting to smother his smirk at her gleeful childlike joy. Not succeeding, but attempting. It was the thought that counted though.

"Do you care to come in with me or would you prefer to wait outside?" he asked her solicitously.

"Puh-lease, I have braved the Evil Queen's fortified lair for your vengeance. I can brave Granny's diner for my cake."

He looked at her as if he wanted to say something, but then merely grinned and shrugged.

She stepped inside and was blasted with the smells of diners everywhere – stomach-turning grease, heavenly fresh-baked bread, and freshly brewed java. She resisted the urge to close her eyes and just take in that one scent like the junky she was, and instead did a quick cursory glance of her surroundings to do a threat assessment.

And that was when she saw _him_.

Tall, dark, and handsome. The Knight of the bloody Cart.

She had forgotten that he was here. She had forgotten that this 'saintly' man had come to Storybrooke along with Emma Swan's baby-daddy from the Forest. In her euphoria, she had forgotten that the 'Heroes' congregated at the diner.

But she remembered everything else. She remembered the pain of humiliation, of betrayal, of abandonment, of scorn and derision, of rejection. She could feel her palms begin to sweat and her heart begin to race. It didn't help that everyone there – the dwarves, the giant, the Charmings, Swan and Cassidy and Henry, Archie, Gepetto and Pinocchio – and had begun to look at her, noticing her halted entrance.

_He _noticed too. His dark eyes met hers, hope lit his face for a brief moment, and then fell as true recognition dawned. That _hurt_. That hurt so much that when he opened his mouth and greeted, "Gwe – ", she lost it. The anger rising up so fast that she wanted to choke him with it.

Within two strides, she grabbed a steak knife off of Sleepy's plate, and within another, she had it up against his throat, hissing, "Don't. Call. Me. That. _Ever._ It has _never_ been my true name." Confusion flickered in his eyes, and she could see him struggling to remember…

"Oh my god, you don't even _know_ the name my father christened me with?" Her hysterical laughter made everyone in the diner jump.

She shoved him away from her as she tried to regain control of herself. Two deep breaths were all it took, and then she straightened, meeting his pitying gaze head-on. She cursed his unwanted pity silently, coldly decreeing, "If you ever do recall it, you are to keep it to yourself."

He nodded.

"Swear it!" She spat.

"I swear on the blood of my Savior, your name will never grace my lips."

She accepted his oath, for she knew that the saintly knight held nothing more sacred; although she wondered where his devotion was when he was breaking the Seventh Commandment with his liege-lord's wife no less.

At her curt nod and even further lowering of knife, he dared to ask, "And what shall I call you instead, M'lady?"

She coldly stared him down, biting out, "Just that. You owe me that much, _Sir_ Knight."

Biting his tongue against the rising tide of burning questions she knew he had, he bowed his dark shaven head in acquiescence. At which, she spun on her heel and marched to the counter, placing the knife gently down before asking with forced calmness, "May I have my usual, Granny?"

The formidable woman glanced over her head as if seeking permission from someone behind Tawny. She seemed to have received it, because she reached down and handed her a bottle of cinnamon whiskey. Tawny handed the tender for twice it was worth, instructing, "Keep the change."

To Killian who had his hand on his sword hilt and his menacing glare on everyone else in the diner, protecting her back like the best mate he is, she whispered, "Get the cake. I'm going to call Fitz."

"You sure, lass?" he murmured. And though she hadn't said it, he seemed to know that she was going to cancel the party.

A bitter laugh escaped her clogged throat as she slipped past him with a nod and exited the diner.

~0~

_Granny's_

_A few minutes earlier…_

Tawny was practically skipping her way into the diner. Normally he would have teased her about this, but today was her Achievement Day and she was grinning from ear-to-ear, a sight he would never grow tired of seeing as he suspected it was too rare for this winsome lass; so he would do nothing to spoil it. And to be honest, his well-developed sense of self-preservation knew better. She could hold her own against him now.

He was half a step behind Tawny when she entered the diner, and he proudly noted that she it was second instinct for her to scout the land before proceeding.

He was halfway to the counter, signaling to the admirable matron for the dessert, when he noticed that Tawny had not moved and that she was fixated on Baelfire's new friend, that famous gallant chap of a knight, the one whom the ladies of Pleasure Island wanted to know if the rumors of him being a 'Leviathan' were true.

By the look on Tawny's face, his being a Leviathan had nothing to do with the size of his manhood and had more to do with him being a monster.

When the man started to move towards her, he made to scar the beast's pretty face but Tawny was quicker. He nearly cheered when he saw the knife at the man's throat, but instead he put his hand on his sword in his best intimidating manner to keep everyone else in their seats. Most didn't even notice, as they were as fixated on the tableau before them as he was coming to be.

It was a good thing that he had done so, because as soon as the wounded fiery lass turned her back to acquire whiskey of all things, Charming and that belligerent dwarf attempted to make a move. He stood his ground, and Emma for once respected his wishes and backed him up.

After Tawny left, the disquieting spell of silence was broken and nearly everyone erupted. The loudest of all was the dwarf, who pathetically attempted to get in his face, barking like the little pug-faced terrier he was, "Keep your girlfriend on a leash, Hook. There are children in here."

Before 'the Captain' could reply in true Hook fashion, Emma placed a hand on the dwarf's shoulder to silence him and with her other turned Killian back towards the counter, asking softly, "What the hell was that all about?"

He shrugged her hand off and growled, "I have no more of an idea than you, but if that 'gallant knight' wishes to live to maintain his reputation, he will keep it between the two of them, as clearly she is the wounded party and as a lady it is her wishes that should be respected, if I recall the code of the Round Table correctly." He said this last part loud enough for the noble lordling to hear.

Their little tête-à-tête was interrupted by Granny bringing out the cake. He paid for it quickly, nodded curtly to its baker in gratitude, and swiftly made his exit, deftly but guiltily avoiding Henry's no doubt concerned and imploring look.

She was a little ways down the street, away from prying eyes at the window. Her head was down so that her blond hair covered her face, but her back was to the wall so no one could sneak up on her and her grip on the bottle of whiskey allowed her to swing it like a club if they tried. Atta girl.

As he drew nearer, he could hear her say: "No, Fitz, there is no use asking me why right now… Yeah, you'll get your answers after Giselle weasels or hounds it out of me later…Take care."

She tucked her phone in her pocket and fixed him with an apologetic gaze, explaining morosely, "It's just a rain-check. Until I feel in a far more festive mood."

"Aye, lass," he agreed sympathetically, and then, because he couldn't help himself, "What's a 'rain-check'?"

This startled a short watery hiccup of a laugh out of the poor lass, before she gamely attempted to explain, "It's a – "

He cut her off with a bump to the shoulder, stating, "Never mind, kitten. What I really want to know is if you are not in a festive mood, what sort of mood are you in?"

Holding up the bottle of whiskey, she confessed dryly, "Well, me hearty, I plan to drink up, yo ho, and then drown in tears, and then somewhere in between stuff my face with chocolate cake."

Under different circumstances he might have taken umbrage at her poor imitation of pirate speech, but he recognizes dangerous waters when he sees them. When Milah was feeling morose, usually around Baelfire's birthday or name-day, she would isolate herself in their cabin with several bottles of their finest and cry her ocean of tears, and woe to anyone who disturbed her. He had also learned that she didn't always want to be alone, that sometimes she wanted him there with her, to be the one person who could sit there and listen to her without judgment, or to just sit there and be. He had been honored to be her person.

And he would be Tawny's person, if she would just let him.

But like Emma, she had these walls that went sky high. And like Emma, she forgets that he is a great climber.

"And where shall we be doing this?" Before she could protest, he declared, "For you don't think that I'm going to let you wallow alone, do you? I have invested too much into this partnership for you to cut me out now."

She hesitated a moment and then her shoulders slumped in resignation. A quick learner, this lass is.

After a moment of careful consideration – he could see the great debate between her warm inviting bed and his bonnie ship, the epitome of freedom – when she finally declared, "The _Roger_." And just as he was turning them to guide them to the docks, she muttered with some acerbity, "Something has to be jolly about this evening."

"Oh, lass, bad form." He groaned in protest.

At his pained expression, she laughed, and he reveled in it, for he suspected that it would be the last pure sound of amusement he would hear from her the rest of the evening.

~0~

_The Jolly Roger_

Once her feet touched the deck, she realized that she did not want to barricade herself below, but nor did she want to have their inevitable conversation in which she bared her soul out on the open deck. She found herself wishing for her oak tree, the one she used to climb when she was a little girl, and that was when she thought of the crow's nest.

Killian was obliging, fully into his gentleman-captain mode, and without complaint creatively rigged up a way to hoist the cake up there as well. While she was admiring the cake and trying not to cry over it – for Ruby had added her mark to a corner of it, a wolf paw print of red icing – he was gathering utensils, cups, and handkerchiefs; all of which he pulled out of his pockets as soon as he settled next to her.

After a shot or two of whiskey and a very large slice of her cake, she finally broke their silence, beginning with the safe generalities. "What do you know of Camelot?"

Killian shrugged casually as he replied, "It was an isle kingdom beyond the Forest, ruled by King Arthur and his chivalrous Knights of the Round Table. It fell to barbarians a few years before my return from Neverland due to infighting."

She nodded and then sighed, "My father was one of the King's men, loyal to the end, but not a knight of that 'egalitarian' table because of his continued affair with a local merchant's daughter, my mother."

She stopped and waited with baited breath for his reaction to her revelation. She expected there to be a shout of doubt or awe at her being a native of Camelot, but instead, he homed in on the detail that mattered the most to her, asking softly, "And what was the end?"

This grief was old, but her matter-of-fact answer was still tinged with sorrow. "The King sent him to defend against northern invaders, but it was an ambush. Morgana's supporters attacked them while they were in route. He managed to get his men out, but not before he was fatally wounded."

"And this Morgana was?"

"Morgana le Fey, the king's half-sister who dabbled in dark magic and who believed because she was the legitimate child of their shared father, that she was the rightful heir to the throne." Scoffing she added, "Rightful heir to his chiefdom, but not the kingdom. That was forged by Arthur and his uniting of the clans; something she couldn't have done with all her dark powers."

"Your parents were killed by the same witch? This 'Fey' witch?"

She downed another shot of whiskey, before replying bitterly, "My antipathy for the vile breed makes much more sense, doesn't it?"

Killian let out a low whistle, adding, "I'd wish all of them dead too, love."

She started to feel all maudlin that he remembered such an offhand comment, but before she could get sidetracked by this sentimental rabbit trail, he prompted kindly, "What happened to you after that, Tawny-lass?"

She sighed and then picked up her tragic tale, "By that time I was already established in The Shrew's household. My father had taken me in upon my mother's death, and after his, she and their daughter, my older half-sister, made my life miserable. Most of the time, they ignored and shunned me, leaving me to be looked after by the servants and tutors; which I didn't mind, because when Guinevere did notice me she was spiteful and vindictive."

This time, he was stupefied with awe, barely able to get out a flabbergasted: "Guinevere? As in…?"

"Yes, as in the Queen. She was fair to look upon, which the King noticed at my father's funeral; and she was in need of a protector from all the greedy suitors who wanted my father's wealth, and he loved to fulfill the role of the hero." She couldn't help the resentful sneer that slipped past her carefully controlled demeanor.

Killian snorted cynically, "Not to mention, he would get the revenue from her lands and the support of her vassals."

"Yes, and The Shrew and The Bitch got the prestige and power of being leaders of the Court," was her contemptuous agreement. She took secret satisfaction in the knowledge that her half-sister had quickly become disillusioned. With the power and prestige came a cage. The constant eyes that followed her every move by guards, servants, and backstabbing courtiers; the expectations of the role; the false friends who only sought favors – all of it created a prison of loneliness. Not to mention, Arthur's frequent absences to fight this battle or that in defense of the kingdom. She should know.

Pulling herself from her reverie, she continued, "At first, they left me behind, wanting to keep the reminder of their shame safely tucked away in anonymity. But Arthur wouldn't have it. He sympathized with me, being a bastard himself, and insisted that I be brought to court as one of her ladies-in-waiting."

The only difference between her and her majesty's handmaiden was that she was curtsied to by the laundry maids when she delivered The Bitch's gowns to be washed or mended.

"What he did not know was that by doing so, he had doomed his marriage. In her mind, I think, he was just like her father – choosing 'my side' over hers, and so when the handsomest and best of all knights gazed upon her with adoration and devotion and listened to her and took 'her side' against me, she succumbed and eventually ran away with him."

She had reached the point in her tale, in which would explain her actions back in the diner, but she could not do it, not just yet. So she cut herself another piece of cake and watched the sky darken as the setting sun sunk behind the mountains.

The kick in the pants that she needed to continue came by way of Killian, who murmured understandingly, "Lass, you need not tell me anymore, if you don't wish it."

"No, no, I do need to. It's been festering for so long…" Her gaze flickered to his briefly, before she continued her narration, "When my dear sister brought me to court, she introduced me to all as Gwenhwyfach, which was a cruel play on words. For you see, in our tongue, Guinevere's true name is Gwenhwyfawr, which can be interpreted as 'Gwenhwy the Great', so my new moniker meant 'Gwenhwy the Lesser'. And by a cruel twist of fate, Regina's Curse decided that in this world I should be called Gwen."

"Why – ?"

"Why keep it?" She shrugged, then confessed, "Partly because I don't want people to know my true name, partly because I don't want to be boxed in by my Forest persona, partly because I'm a bit of a masochist, but also because it's nice to hear it said with affection from my friends who know me by that name."

She munched on a piece of cake and tracked the rising moon's path as its light flickered over the inky black waters, before asking thoughtfully, "Do you know what one of the saddest things is about all of this is?" Before he could venture a guess, she snorted derisively, "Because The Shrew didn't treat me as badly as her daughter did, I held out the faintest of hopes that she held a smidgen of concern for me. So when she came to me and begged me to help her with a plan to save the last shred of the family's good name, the poor orphan girl who longed for a mother's love, foolishly agreed to commit treason."

"Treason?" He asked as if he hadn't heard her correctly.

"Oh yes, treason," She confirmed. "You see when Lancelot and the queen ran away, they left while visiting our home, and The Shrew was afraid that she would be accused of helping them, so until her daughter came to her senses, she needed a stand in. And who better than the half-sister who looks as if she could be her twin?"

Killian's face was priceless. His blue eyes were wide, his expressive eyebrows fully raised, and his mouth hanging agape, all in astonishment.

She grinned mirthlessly, "Yes, there were a few differences. She was slightly taller and more fully endowed. Heels and padding easily took care of that. I had to decline any requests to play the harp, which was her musical gift, and I had to drink the horrid sweet wines that she favored. But those were the easy parts."

"Pray tell, what was the hardest part?"

There was no hint of mockery. He genuinely seemed interested in her story. This and the fact that he seemed to believe her outlandish tale bolstered her.

"It was difficult to remember not to show a sign of gratitude to the servants, to just take their work for granted. It was difficult to remember to snub the courtiers who did not obsequiously flatter and fawn over me."

"But you managed them all with the skill and ease that you employ upon me and your vigilante army."

Rolling her eyes, she protested, "I don't _manage_ you, but yes, I found that I had the talent for the 'game of power', and was greatly helped by my former outsider-looking-in perspective." More thoughtfully, she divulged, "All the secrets that I had overheard because I had been a nobody… but the secret that terrified me the most was my own. The fear that I would be discovered, that someone would see…It was petrifying…And then there was Arthur."

After another fortifying sip of her whiskey, she elaborated, "The most difficult part of it all was lying to him, the man who I held in such high regard. To make up for it, I was more attentive to him than grudge-bearing Guinevere had been, more supportive and less demanding – which should have tipped him off."

At Killian's snort of amusement, she rolled her eyes again, "My inexperience in 'wifely duties' was, I imagine, attributed to his frequent absences, and the usual indicative barrier was taken care of by my un-lady-like habit of riding astride."

"He was your first, and he didn't even know it?" His eyes narrowed in disapproval as he muttered through pursed lips, "That's not how it should be, lass."

Trying not to picture how her pirate friend imagined it should be, she waved her hand dismissively, "That's neither, here nor there. What is important is that the King began to fall in love with the False Guinevere, and when the real one heard that her husband was becoming besotted with his 'wife', she went bat shit crazy. For she knew it could only be me who could pull it off."

"She returned and exposed her own infidelity? Abandoned her love…Why?"

She wasn't so mired in her own misery that she couldn't wonder at the pirate who had held a grudge for centuries not understanding the caustic insanity of hatred. That it was inconceivable to him that anyone would choose vengeance over love was… moving.

Smiling softly, she explained. "Like I said, she went bat shit crazy. For her, history was repeating itself. The man who was supposed to love her, first her father and then her husband, favored her bastard half-sister. And so she returned and declared that I had used witchcraft to usurp her rightful place, poisoning her and Lancelot with a love potion so that they would betray their king and, she 'suspected', that when Arthur began to grow suspicious I poisoned him so that love's blindness would keep him from seeing the truth."

"And Arthur believed this poppycock?"

"No, he didn't. But he went with it." She admitted, closing her eyes in a vain attempt to squash the swell of sadness that was threatening to overwhelm her.

In her nightmares, she was haunted by his dark eyes – filled with the pain of betrayal and anger, such righteous fury…

~ **C*** **A** * **M** * **E** * **L** * **O** * **T ~**

**~_Many years ago~_**

As soon as her king entered her tiny cell, she cried, "I'm not a witch, I swear, Arthur!"

"I know." He acknowledged, his shoulders slumping in resignation. Her relief was short-lived, for he added regretfully, "But it does not matter, your part in this farce has tied my hands."

"What are you saying?"

"_I'm saying_," He snapped harshly, "that I cannot look like a cuckolded fool who can't even tell he is bedding the wrong woman!" His eyes then pierced her accusation and his voice rasped with agony, "How could you? If you loved me at all, how could you do this to me?"

She wanted to touch him, to soothe him, to ease his suffering and let him know that she never thought him a fool, but he was so stiff and distant, holding himself beyond her reach. And it was not her place. So in between sniffs of remorseful tears, she pleaded for understanding, "At first it was to avoid the family's disgrace, and then it was to protect you, to shield you and then – and then I began to _care_ for you, as if you were mine."

"It would have been better for all if you had not – "

She didn't want to hear his rejection; she couldn't, so she let the anger and bitterness that she was holding in rise up, snapping, "It would have been better if Lancelot had kept control of his woman."

"It would have been better if Lancelot had kept away from _mine!_" he retorted furiously.

She couldn't deny that, so she retreated and waited for his wrath to cool before asking, "So shall I be burned at the stake for my wicked sorcerous ways or will I be beheaded for treason?"

"Neither," he sighed. "You'll be exiled, banished for impersonating the queen."

~ **S*** **T** * **O** * **R** * **Y** * **B** * **R** * **O** * **O * K * E ~**

The tears were free flowing at this point, several handkerchiefs soiled, and so in order to create emotional distance, she asked, "Did you know that in this world, I am only known by Guinevere's pet name for me? And that both times that I am mentioned it is to attribute the slap I gave her as the cause for the disastrous Battle of Camlann?"

Killian shook his head patiently, for of course, he didn't, but then a slow grin spread across his face as he asked, "You slapped her that good, huh?"

"Oh yes," she confirmed, returning his grin with malicious glee. "When she stormed into the hall to dramatically make her accusation, I slapped her to shut her up and to take out all my fury for her mistreatment of me, of Arthur, and most of all for not staying away. She couldn't speak for a whole minute."

She chose to revel in the satisfaction that tiny act of violence had given her and to squash the terror that still clawed at her throat at the memory of her humiliation and of having to face the accusing stares of a crowd full of self-righteous nobles.

Shrugging dismissively, she noted, "The slap didn't result in Arthur's downfall. His court fractured over his decision to accept Guinevere back. His nephew, Mordred, didn't think a man who would let his wife get away with such behavior was fit to be king, and too many knights agreed with him."

"What happened to The Shrew?"

~ **C*** **A** * **M** * **E** * **L** * **O** * **T ~**

She was awoken by the sound of stomping boots just outside of her cell. But it was not her cell door that was opened but the one across from hers. She was about to roll over and go back to sleep, too exhausted by her latest crying jag to feel curious, when a horribly familiar voice hissed, "_Basderddyn_, I know you're there, and I know you're listening, and I want you to know that I curse you. I curse the day you were born. This is all your fault."

Her despondent lethargy was not so much that she couldn't summon up the energy to object curtly, "As I recall, it was _your_ idea and it was _your_ daughter that was the adulteress."

"Do not speak to me of adultery, _Basdarddes_. _You_ had to go and make him love you. Just like your whore mother. My greatest regret is that I didn't bargain with Morgana to strike you down with The Pestilence as well."

~ **S*** **T** * **O** * **R** * **Y** * **B** * **R** * **O** * **O * K * E ~**

As the excruciating memory faded, she answered, "She was locked away under house arrest. I assume Guinevere was able to sway Arthur from his desire to have her executed for her part in the conspiracy."

How she had prayed for the woman's death – by rope, by axe, by pneumonia from her dank cell, and then…her wish had come true, in the most horrific of ways. "And then Camelot was overrun. She was treated like all women were by the barbarians – as a spoil of war until she died from their…_maltreatment_ of her."

She shuddered in horror. As much as she despised her mother's murderer, no woman deserved such a fate.

"In retrospect, Arthur saved me twice by his sentence – sparing me from an execution and from _that._" Killian poured her another shot, which she gratefully drank, before resuming, "His injured pride may have killed the nascent love we had, but it did not kill his chivalry. He had one of my father's former vassals escort me to the docks and arranged for one of my grandfather's former merchant captains to sail me across the channel to the Forest, where this man had his sister, a tavern keeper, take me in. Without all that, I wouldn't have survived – I would have been burned or beaten by the commoners who rightfully loved their king or would have died of starvation in a land of uncaring strangers."

Leaning her head back against the mast, she closed her eyes and concluded her tale, "I stayed there until I heard of the fall of Camelot and Arthur's fate, and then I fled deeper into the Forest, bouncing from one tavern to the next, picking up survival skills and honing all the ones that I had learned sneaking about my father's keep." Smiling softly, she dryly remarked, "Skills such as lock-picking and sneaking into homes is what led me to you. Aren't you lucky?"

For a moment, he didn't respond, causing her eyes to flash open, which is when she saw him awkwardly reach across his body with his good hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, give her shoulder an encouraging squeeze, and then trail down her arm flooding it with warmth, before saying softly, "Aye, I am."

In the faint glow of the moonlight, she could see the sincerity in his eyes. She nearly drowned in those damn blue eyes. Even at her most vulnerable, he made her feel safe. He made her feel strong.

In that moment, she knew it was time. She knew that if she ever revealed this to another soul, it would be him.

"Killian?" she whispered softly.

"Yes, lass?"

"My name is Tanwen."


	11. Chapter 10: Names and Deeds

**A/N: **When looking for female characters in legends and fairy-tales I researched Arthurian tales and came across Gwenhwyfach. The short little blurb that Wikipedia and other sites had on her intrigued me, so much so that I just _had_ to include her in my character's back-story. I hope you didn't find it too far-fetched.

As always any and all constrictive criticisms and words of encouragement are welcomed. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 10:**

**Names and Deeds**

When Tawny began her story, he fully intended to sit there silently and let her get it all off her chest, but he soon realized that she could not be treated like Milah. This was for the obvious reason that she was not Milah and for the less than obvious reason that she had never had someone who she could confide in completely, at least not since her mother died, so at the very least she was out of practice and needed to be coaxed through the process. It was not all that hard to do – ask a few questions here, give a supportive reaction there, and the more freely she shared.

It was an engrossing tale, almost beyond belief, but that in and of itself would have convinced him of its authenticity had it been anybody else but her doing the telling. However, since it was her, he had no doubt of its truthfulness. The lass may have been cagey at times with him, but never had she lied.

It had taken every ounce of his self-control to keep his righteous fury on her behalf to a bare minimum of indignation. But with every revelation, he began to wish that they all – Morgana, The Shrew, Guinevere and her lover, and the proud but foolish king – weren't dead or beyond his reach so that he could do to them all the things he wished he could do to the Crocodile. This Lancelot fellow had best not cross his path in the next few days...

He found himself bewildered and peeved that she still seemed to hold her former 'husband' in such high regard. He had rejected her, turned her out and made her the scapegoat for his unfaithful wife's crimes, and chosen Queen Bitch over her, all for the sake of his pride and what he thought was 'right'. She should despise him for the sad, vain little man he was. And let us not forget obtuse. Heaven forbid that he, Killian, ever not see her for the rare gem of a woman she is.

He was both humbled and honored when she revealed her name. He could count on his one good hand when he had ever felt so unworthily privileged – his brother proclaiming his faith in him, Milah maintaining that she thought him good father material, and Emma asserting that she trusted him with Henry's life.

When he was finally able to recover from his speechlessness, he said, "Tanwen? It's a beautiful name, love." With his head cocked to the side, he asked, "In your native tongue, what does it mean?"

"White fire," she replied.

At this, he couldn't help but chuckle.

"And what is so funny?" she asked with reasonable annoyance.

"It's not funny, not really, just – just ironic," he defended, unable to wipe the grin from his face.

"Oh?"

"It's very apropos, as I have often thought of you as 'my fiery lass'."

"Yours, huh?" she archly challenged, for, of course, Miss Independence would fixate on that aspect.

"Pirate," he defended with insolent indifference. "We're possessive of things not in the _strictest_ sense our own."

"And in a looser sense?"

"Possession is nine-tenths of the law, or so I have been told."

"Cute." Her tone was full of impatient censure, but her eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth.

Not wishing to make light of her revelation, he declared earnestly, "I _am_ truly honored, Tanwen, and I wish to return the favor."

"You don't have to do that." The lass protested. "I think our relationship has gotten beyond the need for quid pro quo…Besides which, I already know your name."

"You don't know my full name or the story behind it," he corrected lightly. "And I do not feel some obligatory compulsion to balance the scales, for you are right – we are beyond that. It's because I want to." Although it was nice to hear her say so.

"Okay…" His normally feisty and confident lass' voice was tinged with uncertainty, so he took pity on her and began his tale.

"I hail from the merchant class as well. To be more precise, my father was in the shipping business. He did fairly well for himself, which made him a suitable match for my mother, who was an heiress of a timber-empire. Not long after my older brother was born, his luck began to change. Ships were lost at sea to storms, privateers of our nation's enemies, or the press-ganging practices of our own naval captains. To my knowledge, it was around the time of my birth that my father began gambling, and by the age of four, we were bankrupt and my mother took the two of us back to live with her family."

"Did you ever see your father again?"

"Oh yes, at my mother's funeral. She was taken by the cholera. Uncanny, the similarities in our stories." Tawny's murmur of agreement had a hint of dissent, causing him to amend, "Hers though, as far as I am aware, was not magically-induced."

After a brief moment of thoughtful silence, he continued, "When she died, my brother had been at sea on his first tour in the royal navy, and so the lonely motherless boy, that I was, thought nothing of leaving with his father and quite enjoyed the secretive game they made of it."

"He kidnapped you?"

Killian shrugged, "In his mind, it was more like 'reacquired', but, essentially, yes, he did. At the time, I didn't mind though, for my mother was dead, my brother was away, and my father was introducing me to a new lifestyle – staying up as late as I wanted, eating whatever I wanted, and learning how to charm women out of their pocket-money. For a while my father had a winning streak at the tables, and I was his 'lucky charm'. But then it ended and we were on the run from his bookie and creditors, and at the age of ten he had signed us up on a ship of … questionable intent."

He struggled to let his own walls down, so that when he met her gaze with his own she could genuinely see the ghost of his pain of being a lost little boy. When he managed it, he shared gruffly, "He lasted a week taking orders from men whom he saw as beneath him, and at the next port of call, he jumped ship and left me behind."

"Why?" Bless her. She looked as if she truly could not imagine why anyone would unburden themselves from a troublesome scamp of a lad.

"I never knew. He didn't leave a note or tell me goodbye. For the longest time, I thought it was because I was no longer 'lucky' so therefore 'not worthy'. And then once discovering that not long after that, he was caught by the law and hanged for his crimes as a swindler, I surmised that I was inconvenient baggage – noticeable and too dependent upon him for my survival.

"Whatever his reason, it worked out in the end, as a few months after he left me on that pirate ship, it was seized and boarded by the crew of the _Jewel of the Realm_, the naval ship my brother served as a middie on. He pleaded mercy on my behalf to the captain, and I was spared the hangman's noose and instead press-ganged into His Majesty's service."

A wave of nostalgia brought a grin briefly to his face and he boasted proudly, "Reunited, the Jones brothers were a formidable force. Eventually, he became captain of the _Jewel,_ and I, his lieutenant."

Memories of their adventures together – outracing the mother of all hurricanes, the sacking of the Raiding Raja's fleet, the climbing of their very first beanstalk – flooded his mind.

He shared a few of them before he ended with the telling the one of his first adventure in Neverland and his brother's last adventure ever. She listened raptly to it all. When he told of his brother's death, she leaned over and gave his knee a sympathetic squeeze and passed him the last of her whiskey. When he finally explained that his king's dishonorable actions were what led to his life of piracy, she snorted and muttered, "Of course, revenge and honor were your motivations. It would be _un-gentlemanly_ if they were anything less…"

He might have taken offense at her mild mockery if he hadn't been more afraid that she would pat or pinch his cheek in intoxicated affection. The alcohol had obviously finally hit her full force, for she was leaning against the mast, limp as a noodle, and with the silliest of grins plastered on her face and gazing at him with the warmth and tenderness that she reserves for baby Alexandra or the puppies at the shelter.

This look was briefly marred by one of confusion. Her brows knit together as she observed, "You never did 'splain how all this has to do with your name…not that I don't _adore_ and – and value the mutual baring of souls."

"When my mother left my father, she reverted back to her maiden name of Jones, which is what my brother registered under when he joined the navy. So when _I _signed on the dotted line to be an officer in His Majesty's Navy, I chose to make my full legal name as Killian Seamus Jones."

"Your father's family name was James?" The canny lass quickly pieced that together despite her inebriated state. At his nod, she inexplicably murmured, "Well, that 'splains Barrie's screw up."

He was going to ask her if she was referring to his 'be-permed' fictional counterpart, when she asked softly, "Why did ya want to honor him like that?"

"I wasn't honoring him. I was reminding myself who I was – the son of a good and honorable woman and the son of a man who was far less so." He explained with equal softness, but then more sharply than he intended, he rejoined, "Why are you so bloody grateful to that king of yours, after what he did?"

She didn't seem to mind, as she openly if slowly answered, "I have to be… I have to remind myself of his good traits, or else I will become just as embittered and shrewish as _her._" The lass' chin jutted out then, and her defiant gaze met his, as she vowed, "But never again will I trust a virtuous man. You canna depend upon them to choose you over the effing 'greater good'."

He considered this thoughtfully. This explained quite a bit as to why she was so comfortable with rogues like him and Conroy. Finally, he quipped knowingly, "Ah. That explains why you like me so much. You can always trust that a selfish man will choose the self-centered thing."

Her eyes shot to him and she opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, but then she glanced away and muttered guardedly, "It is _a_ reason…" Before he could ask what the many others were, she threw him a lopsided but pleading grin, "Another is that I know that you have just enough gallantry in you not to take advantage of your verra tipsy friend and help me down from here. If I do it by me lonesome, I'll break my neck or go _kersplat_."

He chuckled at her wide eyed and nervous glance at the deck below and valiantly resisted all the suggestive remarks he could make in response to any of those statements. Instead, he blandly replied, "You're faith in me is so touching, lass, I'll even chivalrously lend you my cabin for the night."

Shaking her head, she declined, "That's kind of you, but a hammock will do. I can't guarantee that I won't puke all over your sinfully silky sheets in the morning."

He grimaced and agreed, "Aye, in that case, it's a hammock for you."

He then rigged up a rope in which he could lower her down to the deck, did the same for the cake, which she had eaten a third of, and then descended himself.

As soon as she was ensconced in her hammock with a slop bucket at the ready, she was out like a light. He gazed down at her tear-stained but relaxed face and wondered what their relationship would be like come morning. He knew her natural defenses would resurrect themselves, but he hoped the walls between them wouldn't be so high and thick. He hoped there wouldn't be morning-after regrets.

Leaning over, he brushed his lips across her forehead and breathed, "G'night,Tanwen-lass."

~0~

When she awoke the next day, it was late morning or early afternoon. The sun was high in the sky, so noon-ish. Whatever. Her head was pounding. Her eyes did not want to open. Her tongue was fuzzy. But she felt…_free._

Who knew that unloading all of _that_ would lift her spirits so? If she had, she might have told someone sooner.

As she tried to relax and let her stomach settle and enjoy the gentle swaying of her hammock, she also attempted to imagine who else she could have confided in.

No one before she met Killian. Anyone trustworthy in the Enchanted Forest was pro-True Love, and therefore, would have been horrified at the idea of her sneaking her way into the king's, her brother-in-law's bed without being in love with him first and thus unsympathetic to her consequences.

And no one after either. They would all have pitied her. She would have no one's pity. She was a survivor.

She was not looking forward to Giselle's grand inquisition. Her friend might understand what it is to be used by a mother-figure – well, Ashley would too – but she wouldn't understand the rest. Ashley might though. Her Ella-half had after all made a deal with Rumplestiltskin, making the unholy bargain of relinquishing her firstborn for a chance of happiness with a prince. But she was still chary of sharing her complete story with her friend as she had with Killian, as in the end Ashley had gotten her prince and their baby.

In that moment, she had an epiphany. She resented her friends and their happy endings. What a right piece of work, she was.

It was only a tiny kernel of resentment, but it was just enough to explain her reluctance to confide in them and her comfortableness with Killian, for he too had not gotten his happy ending in either world.

She may be a royally effed up mess, but she was a practical one. And being thus, she swiftly decided that she would tell Giselle and a select few others that the exiled knight was her wannabe brother-in-law who had treated her ill because he had been blinded by his love for her half-sister and leave it at that. She also decided that it was time to quit hiding from the world. She would get up, relieve herself in the head, and stumble her way to the galley for coffee/tea, pain killers, and breakfast. And if she met the good captain there, she would try to curb the snark and keep it to the minimum of hangover bitching levels rather than the vulnerable-and-wounded-animal-lashing-out extremes.

When she staggered into the galley, Killian was leaning against a counter, drinking from a mug of what smelled like tea, and reading the _Mirror_. He looked far too good for a pirate of his age – all dressed in tight dark pants and a navy dress shirt with loose billowing sleeves, and while he was scruffily unshaven, his eyes did not have dark rings from their late night.

He took one look at her disheveled glory and smirked, but at her glower merely said, "I just put a pot on."

She grunted her thanks.

After rejuvenating cup of earl grey, painkillers, and toast, she asked, "What are your plans for the day?"

"I have a training session with Ginger this afternoon and that card game that Larue set up tonight."

She perked up at hearing that last bit. Larue was originally known as Le Fou, a man of the same ilk as Smee, a stooge of more powerful and generally less savory characters. He had been a frequent player at the table at Guy's, often hinting that he knew of shady get-rich-quick schemes to puff up his importance. Killian had become a favorite of his, as the astute pirate had proved to be an attentive listener. As a result, the adroitly buttered-up fool had decided to invite Killian to a higher stakes game, where they were hoping to hear more of these schemes.

However, in order to be polite, she asked first, "How is Ginger doing?"

Ginger was Storybrooke's yoga instructor and while cursed had been the town's resident hippie, which was an interesting contrast to her true self – Jinjur, political activist, revolutionary, and general of the all-women's army of Oz. Her lessons with Killian had originally been intended to be a refresher course but the woman had quickly discovered that she had quite a bit to learn from the devious Captain Hook.

"Not bad for someone who has to be broken of honorable habits," he assessed honestly. He shot her a mock reassuring grin, as he goaded, "But don't worry, love. You are still my star beginner pupil."

She ignored the bait and asked, "Where's the game being held?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. The little toady has not messaged me yet." Leaning in with a gleeful smirk, he added, "But I received several from your stylist friend, who gave up on you responding to the ones she left with you."

"And?" she prompted warily.

"You have an appointment with her this afternoon."

She narrowed her eyes at him, "You didn't schedule one _for_ me, did you?"

"No," he denied hastily, looking as if she had gone hatters at the idea for even suggesting it. "I conceded defeat and agreed to ensure that you showed up to the one _she_ scheduled for you."

She sniggered, "The big bad Captain Hook is frightened of sweet petite Rapunzel?"

"Damn straight," he asserted before gloating, "And you get to face that scary lass all on your own in her den, kitten."

Her subsequent groan of misery was almost as loud as the banging of her head on the table.

~0~

Killian had had nothing to worry about concerning his and Tawny's morning-after. Business had carried on as usual. They made plans. They verbally scrapped in good fun. He called her all of his various and a sundry pet names and occasionally 'Tawny' (he did not want to get in the habit of calling her Tanwen and then accidentally slip up and say it in front of others; he respected her privacy), and she had not retreated to her formal fall back of 'captain' for him. The only difference that he could detect was that she had ceased to search his gaze for hidden meaning and had been more free in her responses; the slight hesitancy she was wont to have had been refreshingly absent.

She even made a casual reference to her cruel half-sister. As if there was nothing to it.

When Tawny had learned that the game was to be hosted by none other than Drusilla 'Dee Dee' Boyd while her mother was at her weekly chamber of commerce meeting, she had groused, "Hmph. I knew Ashley's older stepsister was a scheming, conniving li'l twat – not nearly as bad or as shrewd as Guinevere – but not so amoral as to get mixed up with men like Foxworthy."

From what he had observed of the 'lady'-in-question's behavior that night – hair twirling, eyelash batting, high-pitched giggling – she was not eager to metaphorically get in bed with Foxworthy's set, so much as eager to use them as stepping stones to literally get in bed with Gisbourne's. There is no accounting for taste.

That wasn't the only thing he observed that evening. He noted that the serving girls for this little shindig were not any of Tawny's trusted maids, but rather the triplet sisters of Pleasure Island. He could only assume that Ms. Boyd hired them at the behest of a gentleman who was confident in their keeping his secrets. As to why that was he was not sure.

They were not what he would call savvy lasses. They fawned over that Keith Reeves fellow a bit much for his liking, touching him every chance they got as they refilled his or his neighbors' drinks. The man was a lecher, practically drooling at the thought of a foursome, and a cheat at cards. But nevertheless, all of the unsavory sort of Storybrooke who were guests of their hostess felt free to discuss their business in front of them, unlike him.

Judging by the guarded conversation at his table and the sudden switches to this 'football' sport when he passed by others, he was not yet an accepted member into their wretched hive of degenerate scum.

Not that this bothered him much. Tawny-lass would be disappointed, but he was not. He had time, and he knew that one does not need to be trusted to learn valuable information about others. Fawning wenches being a weak link was one example. Another is that little toady Larue has connections to all sorts.

While he tried not to gut the lewd boor for his uncouth remarks about Swan and Tawny, he witnessed Larue talking to a tall, almost sinuous woman. He wouldn't have known who she was until she glanced up and caught his eye – she had one ochre colored eye and one all white eye.

"You sure know how to pick 'em," the former sheriff declared appreciatively, when he saw Killian wink at her. At his questioning look, Reeves chuckled dryly, "But of course a pirate knows treasure when he sees it."

Taking the opening that the man gave him, he smirked and acknowledged roguishly, "That I do. And by any chance do you know the name of that fine gem of a damsel?"

"Oh, yeah, that's Flo," he replied, looking slightly amazed that he didn't know. "Even if this wasn't such a small town, I'd know her by those freaky Samuels twin eyes anywhere. Her brother has the same ones except it's his right eye that is all white."

Killian thought about asking what she and her twin brother had been Before, but decided against it. If he showed too much personal interest, suspicions would be aroused, so he merely said, "A twin _brother_? Well, that's a pity."

Reeves snorted, "Yeah, it's a fantasy-killer. But who needs twin sister reveries when there are the Triplets?"

He made a noncommittal noise before he laid down his cards and took the lout's money.

~0~

_A few weeks later…_

"You learned of this – the where, the when, and the who of a drug deal – from the _triplets_?" she asked Killian incredulously, her voice going all unattractively tinny.

The outrageous man had used the excuse of walking her to her apartment from the gym to relay this improbable discovery.

"Don't look so doubtful, darling." He objected. Whether in defense of his unlikely source or his intellect, it was difficult to tell. The corners of his mouth then twitched mischievously, as he argued, "Wasn't it you who said the maids know everything? I just took it one step further. Rather logical really. No one knows dirty laundry like wenches."

She shot him a skeptical look.

"Touché. Not all of my information came from them," he admitted indifferently. "I extrapolated from various sources – Gisbourne's squire, Starkey, Larue, what you got from Reeve's phone, what Hatter-boy saw through his scope, _and_ what the triplets told me. And I believe that tomorrow night where the town line crosses with the dirt road to the mines there will be an exchange of coin for mind altering substances."

"What time?"

"Eleven," he promptly replied, and then his nonchalant air morphed to something heavy with significance, as he asked, "Would you like to join me?"

Caught off guard, all she could do was parrot back, "Join you?"

With a hint of amused tolerance, he explained patiently, "Yes, in sabotaging the exchange via hijacking the dope and disposing of it and/or apprehending the blackguards. You are ready. You have beaten me not once, not twice, but thrice now, and have helped me take on all of my other students as well as Freddie's young lads."

She had beaten him three times. Her second time had been in her apartment courtyard. When Deputy David Charming, who had been called to break up their 'domestic disturbance,' had come upon the scene of her on top of the pirate's back tugging Killian's head backwards by his unruly hair with one hand and a knife to his throat with the other, he had instructed them to confine their lessons to the ship or to the gym.

The third time had been at the gym; not in the designated boxing/wrestling area though. No, she had led him on a merry chase through the weight machines, and when his hook had gotten tangled up in one of them, she had pounced. Revenge for the firebrand and all of his other dirty tricks since then.

As a reward for her proving that it was her skill and not a one-time fluke in besting him, her rain check party had been immediately arranged. During this shindig she had somehow ended up attempting to teach the rogue how to dance the salsa. Laughable is an understatement – her ability to impart coherent information decreases drastically in proportion to the amount she imbibes... and his hips just don't sway like that.

Not long after their little jamboree, he had switched their lessons from one-on-one to group, stating that she and his other pupils needed to learn how to fend off multiple assailants. Princess Abigail's husband Frederick, whose day job was the P.E. teacher and sports coach at the high school, had volunteered his young athletes to be their 'assailants.' So far she and Killian had been the most successful team against them.

She knew this, for it was an obvious fact. But it was nice to hear it, all the same. It was even more thrilling to be seen as his equal, or near enough for someone has nowhere near or ever can have the _experience_ level that he has.

She reveled in that feeling for a moment before getting down to business and answering, "Of course, I'm in. It's just that since when have you wanted to be more than an information gatherer? Or do you have a favor in mind to call in already?"

"Yes, I suppose I'm going to regret _volunteering_." He acknowledged with a mild shudder of abhorrence, before disclosing, "No, there is no favor. And truthfully, I offered because I have stuck my neck out one too many times for Milah's grandson just for him and his friends to grow up in a town plagued with that sort of riffraff."

Before she could comment on his fervent and obviously heartfelt disgust, he shifted into his Hook persona, smirking wickedly, "But then again, what makes you think I'm not just trying to clear out the competition?"

Knowing that he was just belatedly deflecting after revealing far more of himself than he was usually comfortable with, she ignored this last comment and blazed on, inquiring briskly, "So what shall it be: sabotage, snatch and ditch, or apprehend?"

"You tell me, lass."

She thought about it a moment, and then stated, "I think sabotage is out. We don't know enough about these suppliers to be adequately prepared to deal with them. And I think that our primary goal should be getting the product before it gets on the street, but if we can arrange a citizen's arrest so Swan can do her own investigation, that would be good too in the long run."

He nodded sagely, saying, "Sounds good, love," and then gesturing at her apartment door, he added, "How about you get all tidied up and then we hammer out the details?"

As she unlocked her door, she crinkled her nose in annoyance, retorting, "Are you saying I smell less than fresh?"

"As fresh as a drooping daisy. Not that I am much better. I should probably take a shower as well," he was quick to note in order to avoid the consequent elbow jab for his insolence. "In fact…" he drawled, "if you want to hurry up the preliminaries and get to strategizing, we could kill two birds with one stone and …"

At his suggestively waggling eyebrows, she rolled her eyes and quipped, "Conserve water and all that tommyrot? No, thank you. But my, you are incorrigible."

"Some say that it should be my middle name." He grinned unrepentantly.

He was still also looking at her expectantly, so she added saucily, "No thank you, again. Besides I prefer a guy who can take his time, and if all you're good for is a quickie…"

For once, the innuendo prone pirate did not have a response. Tawny did not look back to see if he was astonished by her brazen statement or just insulted by her questioning his stamina. Either way she closed her bathroom door with a satisfied click, taking pleasure in besting him in a verbal skirmish as well.

~0~

_Swan and Cassidy's apartment_

_The next night…_

**_Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz._**

_'What the - ?' _Emma asked herself as she woke up groggily from fitful slumber. Peaceful sleep was hard to come by in a town as _adventuresome_ as Storybrooke. Cracking open one eye, she saw her phone light up and nearly vibrate itself off her nightstand as it alerted her to a text message.

Reluctantly rolling over, she slapped her hand down on top of it before it did fall off. She muttered an oath when she saw that it was from an unknown number, and then cursed again when she saw that it was _one thirty in the godforsaken morning. _There were two perfectly capable deputies – her father and Frederick – on call in the evenings, so there was no reason for anyone to bother her. But knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise, she opened her message…

And immediately shot out of bed.

At this point, Neal woke up, asking with sleepy gruffness, "Emma?"

Hopping into yesterday's pair of pants, she half-explained, "I have to go. Sheriff business. Drug bust…You know, no rest for the weary."

He sat up, concern replacing drowsiness in his eyes. "Do you need me to come with you?"

She shook her head. "No. We have Henry tonight, remember?"

Before she could remind him of all that needed to be done to help Henry get ready for school in the morning, because from those images on her phone she highly doubted she would be back by then, said phone began to buzz again. Picking it up, she answered, "Yeah, David. I got it too. I'll be there in a few minutes."

While he was explaining that he was not only calling in Frederick for back-up but the dwarves as well, she leaned down and lightly kissed Neal on the lips before mouthing 'goodbye'.

As she shut the door behind her and was instructing her father to call the EMTs too, she heard him yell after her, "I'll bring you coffee as soon as Mary Margaret picks Henry up for school."

Oh how she loved that man.

* * *

**A/N: **'Seamus' is a form of James in Irish, and J.M. Barrie is the author of the original Peter Pan stories. So she, Disney, and the creators of OuaT have my eternal thanks for creating characters that my muse can play with.

Stay tuned for the next chapter: _Interludes of the Dark Knights._


	12. Chapter 11: Interlude of Dark Knights

**Chapter 11:**

**Interlude of Dark Knights**

_The Mayor's House_

_Over two years ago…_

Gwen's internal debate on what outfit she should wear to Giselle's Halloween party – French maid or tavern wench – was interrupted by a hesitant clearing of the throat and a "Miss McKinley?"

When she looked up there was little Henry standing in the doorway of the day room with his Tron lunchbox in hand and a worried expression creasing his brow. "What's up, Henry?"

He shrugged, or at least attempted to with his weighed down book bag still on his shoulders, "Not much. It's just that you might want to give those to me to put away before my mom thinks you're reading on the job." He nodded to the items in her hand.

She glanced down and realized that she was still holding the stack of X-men and other super-hero comic books that she had picked up to move in order to dust, before she got distracted by thoughts on costume feasibility. "Oh, yes. Thanks, Henry," she said, recognizing his wisdom and handing him the stack.

He took it, but instead of dashing up to his room to put them away, he plopped down on the nearest black-and-white settee, asking curiously, "So what's your favorite super-hero?"

If it had been anyone else, she might have replied with a flippant 'What makes you think I go for the heroes?' But this was Henry, the poor unfortunate soul who had the ill-luck to be the mayor's son, so she gave his question careful consideration. Finally, she answered, "Batman."

He gazed at her thoughtfully. No quips about how Bruce Wayne wasn't really 'super' just a rich boy with gadgets. Just careful consideration as if he was trying to figure out what made her tick. It was a little disconcerting, so she did what she did best and deflected attention away from herself and asked, "How about you? Who is yours?"

"Superman," was his instantaneous reply.

"Oh? Why is that?"

The kid gave an overly casual shrug as he obliquely stated, "Archie thinks that the heroes we admire are the ones we identify with."

It was her turn to thoughtfully stare. Pausing in her dusting, she searched his face. For a kid who had just referenced his being an adopted child, he was remarkably composed. In fact, he was watching her expectantly, as if hoping she would spill her sob story to a ten year old boy.

Before she could formulate another deflection, the Venomous Ice Queen that was his mother, her boss's client, and the town's tyrannical micro-managing mayor called for her son. "Henry! You better be working on your homework!"

The old man that was trapped in a boy's body grimaced and then dashed off with a hasty goodbye and a promise to loan her his favorite Batman 'graphic novel.'

~0~

_Present_

Because the meet was being held beyond Jefferson's I-spy range, they scouted out the designated area during the day, identifying the best surveillance places – the ones that the participants' lookouts wouldn't see. The spot they decided upon didn't provide a whole lot of visibility and there was definitely no way they could hear what was being said by either party, but it allowed them to see what the product was being carried in, take pictures, and to follow its return into town.

Their perch in the moss-covered pine tree was almost like having nosebleed seats at a theater showing an intrigue-ridden play. The only exception was that at the end of the scene, there were no dead bodies (fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your perspective). Most unfortunately, they were unable to see the faces of any of the visiting group of villains as their Jersey Devils baseball caps blocked their view.

She and Killian followed the overly large ice chest filled with packets of white powder and raw steak. The latter she supposed was used for camouflage. Driver and his goons took it to the warehouse district near the factory. It was empty and dark at that time of night, except for graveyard shift traffic, which they blended in with. She wouldn't have been surprised if Reeves had called and cleared them with the overnight security guard.

She and Killian scouted the area, seeking for hidden lookouts. They kept their distance and were clad in dark clothes in the hopes of not being seen. But in case they were, the pirate's all-black attire was not his usual tight pants, loose shirt, and long coat, but rather loose jogging pants and hoody jacket, and she had her bright hair stuffed up in her 'beanie' which conveniently turned into a ski mask. Killian had one of those as well.

They found two thug sentries. Neither of whom were very good at their job as they were easily snuck up upon. After quietly stowing their opponents' gagged, hogtied, and unconscious bodies in the alley's dumpsters, they waited in the shadows.

Not too much later, a greasy git of a man came out for a smoke. They soundlessly ambushed him too, trussed him up, and packed him away into the neighboring dumpster. And then waited again.

The next two to come out were gorillas of men. The first was properly suspicious with his gun out and ready. The second was not. He loudly called out for his missing mates, calling them all sorts of names and blaming their unresponsiveness to idiocy. This provided the perfect cover for their footfalls. Killian disarmed the gunman and hurled him into the wall, breaking his nose in the process of knocking him out; while she dealt with the loud mouth. A good whack with a convenient two-by-four to his thick skull and he was out for the count.

While Killian added them to their growing collection, she killed the building's lights by tripping the fuse and then she and her vigilante partner donned their night vision goggles (acquired via the Internet) and stormed one of Storybrooke's criminal strongholds.

Their raid wasn't quite up to the standard of Mr. and Mrs. Smith's choreographed perfection. There was definitely no "Mondo Bongo" playing in the background. But they moved in just enough synchronous harmony – trading off in covering each other's back – to be efficient. In the end, they immobilized the remaining four, knocking out half and injuring the other two just enough to allow them to tie them up and then gag them.

Ignoring the woozy glares of the conscious blokes, she pulled out her very own 'burner cell' and began taking pictures of the little drug operation that they had interrupted, including the four bound and gagged men. She then sent them and the pictures she had managed to take while in the tree to Belle's, Swan's, and Charming's phones with the address of the warehouse and a message to 'check the dumpsters' attached.

They stayed there on guard just in case any of their trussed-up turkeys' friends decided to drop by. When they heard the sounds of the approaching cavalry, she and Killian slipped out the back and ducked into another alley. They silently raced from alley to dark street to alley again until they entered one that led right up to the back entrance to the animal shelter. Using her key from when she had volunteered there, Tawny let herself and her fellow 'dark knight' partner in…

And then collapsed.

"You alright, lass?" Killian asked her anxiously, the first words either of them had spoken since alighting their perch.

She nodded her head and chuckled dryly. "Yeah, just adrenaline shakes."

"Ah. Luckily, I have a cure for that," he replied before handing her his ever ready flask.

She accepted it gratefully and took a long bracing swig of its burning contents. It must not have been the cure-all that he was accustomed to, because when she handed his flask back to him, he was still gazing at her concernedly.

"Something else is bothering you, Tawny-love."

She was going to deny it and brush off his concern, because she was actually feeling quite elated. They had accomplished their goals. No one had gotten killed. Neither of them was hurt beyond the occasional bruise, and the streets of Storybrooke would be free of drugs for the time being. What could possibly be bothering her?

But when she closed her eyes to avoid his piercing blue gaze, it dawned on her. Guilt and self-disgust. And then annoyance. For how could he know her better than herself?

Sighing with exasperation, she blurted, "My bloody conscience dislikes how much I enjoyed beating the crap out of those tossers. And not just because they deserved it. But because I _liked_ the violence of it."

When he didn't say anything, she opened her eyes to meet his, not knowing if he was laughing at her or grimacing in disgust. He of course was doing neither. He was smiling at her, and there was a mixture of pride and encouragement in his eyes as he gently reassured her with, "Well, lass, you are now aware of your dark side, and from what I have overheard the Cricket chirp on about, that is a good thing." Ignoring her snort of derision, he added, "And personally, I take comfort in the fact that you are bothered by it and haven't learned to silence that 'bloody conscience' of yours."

She was touched. She truly was and said so, but in that mock-teasing way of hers so as to avoid being overly sentimental.

"Aww. Captain Hook is concerned for my soul. Who woulda thunk?"

He smirked, "Yes, well, my soul is black and thus not worth much, but yours will fetch a pretty price if I ever need to make a deal with the devil."

"I'm pretty sure that is not how it works," she commented dryly as she stood up and made her way over to the locker, where she had stashed their spare clothes.

"Says she who has never made such a deal," was his sardonic retort.

She nearly set him straight, but then realized that they didn't have time for the sort of discussion that would follow, so she merely tossed him his clothes and reminded him to take the scenic route back to his ship.

On the way back to her apartment, she could hear the sirens of the ambulance wailing as it took her victims to the hospital. And instead of feeling guilty, she rejoiced in the fact that this time it was them and not some poor despondent youth wasted on opiates.

~0~

_Storybrooke Woods – August's Trailer_

_A few days later…_

"That arcade swabbie, Chaplin, approached me last night at the Island," was Killian's opening line to her and Jefferson as he entered the trailer. They were having yet another meeting. There was so much information and so many people to keep track of that their powwows almost had to be a weekly occurrence.

Before Jefferson could chide him on his lack of greeting, she teased, drawling, "Did he? I didn't know Harley swung that way."

"He's probably one of those blokes who can't resist pirate _booty_," Jefferson was quick to quip, smiling widely with his imitation of a Cheshire grin. The man dearly loved to push Killian's buttons. His horrible pun and his mad delight caused her to snort. Neither was funny; she was just that kind of exhausted – slap-happy tired.

Unamused and impatient, Killian rebuked them curtly, "Hardy-har-har. Are you two done being childish?"

She and Jefferson shared a glance, silently debating the answer to that question. The socially isolated single father had a devilish twinkle in his eye, the kind that promised he would find a way to needle the pirate and she was welcome to join him.

She decided not to, taking pity on her friend who was essentially sticking his neck out for her. So more seriously, but still not quite managing it, she dramatically sighed, "If you insist, Captain. What did he want?"

"For me to be their mule," he answered her succinctly, and then probably to avoid any juvenile comments about him being or having a fine ass, he quickly clarified, "To smuggle packages across the town line, or so his note indicated."

"The kind that can't be inspected by government postal services, I take it?" she inquired thoughtfully.

At Killian's nod, her mind began to drift. During the Curse, Storybrooke was able to receive outside mail. The delivery men came, dropped off their packages at the local post office, and then left; at which point, they would promptly forget the town's existence and would continue on their merry way. After the Curse, they remembered, which was great for the good guys because it limited what the less than virtuous were willing to have shipped into town.

"What did you say?" Jefferson asked curiously, drawing her attention back to the present. "And who is 'they' exactly?"

"His 'associates', and I said yes, of course." Killian answered him matter-of-factly. To her, he asked, "Is there a gadget in this realm that will allow us to see inside without opening the parcels? I was made to understand that I would be known as Captain Hooks, if they suspected I even attempted to get a peek inside. And I'm very attached to my remaining hand." He twirled his right hand about to demonstrate the fact.

"I think that was rather the point of the threat," the mad man wryly noted.

Ignoring Jefferson, she replied, "Yes, there is, but it is not something I can get my hands on – too big and too expensive for my budget."

"I could," Jefferson volunteered, kindly distracting Killian from her accidental innuendo.

At hers and Killian's surprised looks, Jefferson elaborated, "Regina left me rather well off, and I'm known to be rather an eccentric." Shrugging, he added, "And all you'd have to do is slip by here before meeting up for the hand off."

"Thanks, mate," Killian reluctantly accepted; once again thrown off-balance by the former realm-wanderer. Tawny struggled to suppress her grin. She had never been able to figure out why Killian had an almost instinctual dislike for Jefferson. She knew that the Mad Hatter had an understandable aversion to anyone who had willingly partnered with the Queen of Hearts, but he had managed to get over it. Sympathizing with his fellow widower's loss and need for vengeance, he had reduced his antipathy to simple needling. But alas, the pirate could not seem to find it in himself to reciprocate.

Giselle had noticed this at the party. Her preposterous theory was that it was due to jealousy. Tawny had quickly dismissed the idea, promptly pointing out that even a blind person could see that Jefferson was an obsessive and only had room for one woman in his life – Grace, and that Killian had loved one woman and mourned her for over three hundred years only getting over her when he had fallen in love with 'the Savior.' It was highly unlikely that he would fall so quickly out of love with Swan and into love with the lass he called 'kitten', a term of endearment for a sister if she had ever heard one.

"But in the meantime?" Killian persisted, his blue eyes fixing on her.

Grimacing in distaste, she suggested, "In the meantime, I would go ahead and deliver them."

Both Killian and Jefferson raised their eyebrows in shocked expressions, clearly not expecting that to be her answer.

"The first few deliveries they'll watch you closely, so detours to x-ray scan their stuff would be bad," She explained. "You'll need to earn their trust, and if you wait to start being their mule until after the machine gets here, they'll become suspicious at the delay."

None of them were happy about it, but they could all see the wisdom of her statement. It still left a sour taste in their mouth. Who knew what they were helping Agustino and his lot do?

To provide some hope, she promised, "And when we do know what is going on, we'll bring in the cavalry by flooding the gossip mill."

~0~

_City Hall_

_A few weeks later…_

While they were waiting for the Charmings to arrive to town council meeting, Belle served tea or coffee, depending on the royal's preference, to those who had managed to make it on time to her hastily called meeting and tried to engage in small talk.

It was not to be.

Emma, whom she had invited along with her partner Bae to attend as well as the council members, was not going to have it. With little segue, the sheriff pointedly queried, "Does anyone know who the masked-posse-of-two is?"

Belle nearly groaned aloud. This was a futile line of inquiry. No one here knew who the masked vigilantes were. If they did and hadn't stepped forward by now, then they were in favor of the pair's actions and wouldn't tell anyways. Case in point…

"Who cares? The good guys are winning for once," was Eric's bitter reply.

"Are we sure that they are the good guys?" was Thomas' genuinely inquisitive question.

Before Eric could get anymore bent out of shape than he generally already was without his better half, Abigail interjected diplomatically, "Maybe, maybe not. But I know that Frederick is deeply grateful to them. The poppy peddlers have quit hanging around the school."

Aside from the drug bust that she had been alerted to by an anonymous text message, these two nameless guardians (It was always two according to their much deserving 'victims') had roughed up and citizen-arrested three dealers who had corners near the high school and had scared off the fourth. And the only reason that they knew that the lowlifes had committed such crimes was because pictures and a flash drive of sound recordings of the deals had been attached to their unconscious bodies. Somehow, these two had managed to place a hidden camera and listening devices in the vicinity of the deals.

"I'm not arguing against the ends, or even the means. I just don't like having a pair of loose cannons out there. Someone – not deserving – will eventually get hurt," Emma defended.

All three of the other royals looked as if they had something to say to that remark, but before they could, Emma's parents arrived and made breathy apologies for their tardiness.

While they were seating themselves, Belle took a long sip of restorative tea, resisting the urge to rub her temples, and officially opened the town council meeting. "I called you here this afternoon to discuss some disturbing rumors that I have been hearing and I'm sure you have too."

Glancing around the table she noted the Charmings, Eric, Thomas, and Abigail all nod in agreement, so she continued, "It's possible that on top of everything that we are dealing with the witches and King George, we will be inundated with counterfeit currency as well as home grown narcotics."

At this point, everyone began sharing what they had heard. Abigail's Frederick had overheard some of his students talking about the new supply of poppy and he had been approached by the school's janitor warning him of what he had heard. Thomas' Ashley had heard both rumors from former co-workers and her friend at the hair salon who had overheard customers talking about their concerns. And all of them had been approached by various business owners who wanted to know what was being done to prevent their 'impending financial ruin'.

Abigail, who is the local bank's manager, was the first to offer a helpful solution, "If the business owners and their employees are taught how to recognize counterfeit money like our bank tellers, it will be easier to track its distribution and eventually the source."

"I can help with that, and Emma can probably too," Baelfire, who had been quiet so far, piped up to offer. He and Emma, not officially part of the council, were sitting off to the side. Belle had invited them because as sheriff and deputy they had to deal with implementing whatever solutions the council agreed upon.

At Emma's questioning and slightly miffed at being volunteered look, Bae explained, "I've known some shady characters who dabbled in bogus bills and I was taught how to spot them at a few of my odd jobs over the years, and I'm sure you have too, Emma, in your work as a bail bonds agent."

The blond nodded and agreed reluctantly, "Yeah, I can recognize it, and if you need me to, I can teach a few people how to as well." She didn't look particularly thrilled at the prospect, which was no surprise as the poor girl was getting stretched thin by all her responsibilities.

Her parents saw this and tried to ease their daughter's burden with Snow suggesting, "And for tracking down the poppy plants, we can get dogs that are trained for that sort of thing," and David adding, "The dwarves and I can do sweeps with them across town, and while we are doing that we can also be on the lookout for my father."

"And Ariel," Eric insisted.

"And Ariel," the Prince agreed with quiet sympathy.

Belle had to bite back a sigh of relief. This meeting had been one of the more amiable ones she had had to endure. No one had asked her who her source was. She hadn't been feeling up to the task of defending her 'Concerned Citizen' yet again. And she had feared that with all the stress, the royals were going to take it out on each other with their bickering.

They didn't though. Abigail and Thomas helped them find money in the town's budget for the dogs, and they all left with the hope of achieving at least a small victory against their foes.

~0~

_Back alley of Guy's Gym_

_Twilight..._

"Well, lass, I must say I heartily approve of this new addition to your collection," was Killian's warm, if mistaken, greeting.

Tawny chuckled softly, proud of herself that she had been so attuned to her surroundings that she had sensed him lurking in the shadows. "Giselle will be ecstatic to hear that her wigs are so realistic that you can't tell the difference from real and replica."

At her words, he stepped away from the wall and reached out to give a lock of her newly colored hair a tug. When she grimaced in pain and there was obviously no tell-tale shifting, he finally believed her. With an apologetic grin, he said, "It suits you, Tawny-love."

She tried not to blush, but failed, for she was both thoroughly pleased that she had achieved her goal – of creating a look that was 'more her', the 'her' that she wanted to be at least – and that he had perceived that very thing.

She had had Giselle dye her two-toned locks that were now down to her shoulder blades a shade of warm golden brown, and then had added highlights of the honey blond hue. Giselle had gushed about how it brought out the gold flecks of her hazel eyes and complimented her recently acquired tanned skin (all those hours on the _Jolly Roger_'s deck). But she didn't think that's what Killian was referring to.

As for 'her collection', Giselle had been practicing making wigs and had given her friends a few for their birthdays. Tawny had taken to wearing them on hers and Killian's 'outings' as a way to throw off any suspicions that she might be one of the vigilantes roughing up the town's poppy peddlers. Speaking of which...

As she twisted her hair into a bun to place her beanie/ski mask over, she murmured a soft "Thank you," and then began walking towards the high school for tonight's shenanigans. There was going to be a game there – teachers versus students, and there was bound to be dope pushers that needed a good thrashing.

Killian's no-doubt suggestive commentary on her blush was interrupted by the tinny ringtone of Strangler's "Here comes the Mad Hatter…"

She quickly pulled out her phone from her coat pocket and greeted gratefully, "Hello, Jefferson."

_"Angel_ica, you and that 'noble' ass have shining armor stuff to do. Two suspicious un-gentleman are stalking the navy nun. Prowling south on 3rd Ave towards West Street." And with that cryptic and snarky report, he hung up.

Grabbing Killian's arm, she abruptly changed directions, darting south down a side street.

"Lass? Is everything alright? Young Grace is – " he asked concernedly.

"She's fine," she reassured hastily, touched that he would even care or even think to ask. After a pair of soccer moms and their herd of younger children had passed them, she added quietly, "Mother Superior is being followed. Jefferson thinks she might be attacked. Could be muggers. Could be something worse."

"And the fairy boss is no Tinkerbell," he noted sardonically.

"Yes, physical confrontation is not something she is … _familiar_ with, at least not in Storybrooke." She added that last part recalling a few tales she had heard of Blue's actions during the war between the Charmings and Regina. The fairy might be able to take care of herself, but just in case, she wanted Killian and her on hand if need be.

"Okay, love, how many and where?"

Giving his arm a grateful squeeze for his ever present willingness, she relayed to him what she knew. He immediately suggested a plan – he split off to hunt the hunters from behind and she would approach from in front. If they were lucky, Blue would pass her, none the wiser, and then she and Killian could make their move. It sounded good and, well, _sound_, and when she said so, he smirked that cocky grin of his and then darted down another side street to implement it.

As she went to do her part, she contemplated her good fortune in finding a partner as capable as the captain and as collaborative as he was. Very rarely did he go all he-man on her and order her about; his M.O. was to suggest or consult with her first. It was empowering and she –

And she really needed to focus, because sure enough there was Mother Superior and about twenty yards back were two hulking figures who looked like men on a very ruthless mission – fists clenched, mouths pursed, eyes narrowed and focused on Her Petite Wholesomeness.

Unfortunately, both she and Killian were too far away to do any good when the two brutes pounced.

Coming up on each side of her they grabbed her wrists, presumably to keep her from going for her wand. The 'un-gentleman' on her left hauled her up to his chest, keeping a hold of her wrist with one hand and with the other, covering her mouth, while the other searched her person with his free hand. They moved so swiftly that the poor fairy never got a chance to shout for help.

Not that she needed to.

Her attackers were so intent on their search that they did not see Killian come up behind them, which was mistake number one. Mistake number two was that they had done this in the middle of the street, with her as a witness, and even though they had seen her approaching figure, they had dismissed her. It was truly insulting.

Pulling down her mask and slipping on her brass knuckles, she charged them, shouting, "Oy! Swine!"

Frisker swiveled around to confront her, but greatly misjudged, as his pivot propelled his face into her reinforced fist. There was a most satisfying crunch of nose cartilage as a result. His miscalculation also resulted in him stumbling backwards into a parking meter, briefly allowing her to see Silencer put Blue into a choke hold and go for the gun in his pocket.

He didn't get very far. For in that second, her masked man-in-black was upon him. She did not see what it was that he did, for Frisker was recovering and looking like a bull out for blood, but she heard what he said, and it took all that she had not to choke on her suppressed chuckles.

_"I would not do that if I were you."_

Silencer apparently had a few more brain cells than his partner, because he elected to throw in the towel. Shoving his would-be victim away from him, he jerked away from Killian. He then grabbed his buddy and grunted, "Let's go!"

Bloody Nose made a sound of protest. It was difficult to understand him, but his partner seemed to, because he added as he ran, "I'm not getting paid enough to be an Angel's bounty!"

At these words, she and Killian shared self-satisfied smirks before going to help up the fallen fairy.

Pitching her voice lower than normal, she asked, "Are you alright, ma'am?"

Dusting herself off, she gave a prim little nod, saying breathily, "Yes, yes, I am. I am in your debt…?"

There was no response to her blatant query for their names, as Killian had grabbed Tawny, while the fairy was looking after the retreating figures of her attackers, and had hauled her into the shadowy alley from which he had appeared. Approaching sirens of the late-arriving sheriff could be heard in the distance, so they made themselves scarce.

Later, back on the _Roger_, Killian summed up their night as he poured her a glass of whiskey.

"Well, we didn't get your dealer tonight, nor did we catch the muggers, but the night wasn't a total loss, kitten. The chief fairy is in our debt, and that doesn't sound like a bad place to be."

She grinned gleefully as she accepted the drink, replying, "Nope, it doesn't at all, Captain."

~0~

_The Jolly Roger_

"So how come you don't tell my mom that you're one of the Avenging Angels?" Henry asked him as he worked on the sailor's knot that Killian had been teaching him.

So surprised was Killian at this out of the blue remark, that he nearly burned his hand with the hot cocoa he was carrying over to the lad. The 'Avenging Angels' was one of the monikers that the _Mirror_ had given him and Tawny after their escapade with Driver's goons. 'Dark Angels' and 'Dark Knights' were the more flattering if redundant names given them. And everyone who had come up with a name or two for them had a theory as to who it was. But none of them had come even close.

Except Henry.

"And what makes you think that I'm one of them?" he asked warily. They had been extremely careful to conceal his identity. Colored lenses to disguise his distinctive blues and his faux hand instead of his hook were a few of the ruses that they had used to throw off any suspicions. But if this twelve year old lad could figure it out, how long before their opponents did?

Henry rolled his eyes and explained his reasoning matter-of-factly as if he were a wee lad who had yet to learn his sums, "Please. You gave up your revenge to help my mom get me back, and now that I'm back you haven't started your feud up again. You've had a change of heart."

Humbled by the faith that Henry had him, he struggled to find a way to throw him off the scent, and could only manage a weak protest, asking, "What if I have just been too busy doing, shall we say, less than savory activities?"

Henry cocked his head to the side, looked him up and down thoughtfully, and then stared into his eyes, just like his mother did and challenged, "But you haven't, have you?"

But unlike his mother, he was not searching for a lie. Rather he stated it with conviction, as if he was trying to make Killian believe in himself. It was impossible to deny the lad anything when he was like that, so he admitted softly, "No, lad, I have not."

"But you don't want my mom to know."

This time he said this not as a statement but more as a question. The lady Snow really needed to work on teaching her grandson his inflections.

"Aye, if she were to know, she'd treat me different." He explained, hoping to impress upon the lad the need for secrecy.

He needn't have worried. Emma's and Baelfire's son was a clever lad; for he immediately blurted in understanding, "And then your cover would be blown!"

Looking very proud of himself for figuring it out, Henry then proceeded to throw him through another loop. "What do you and Gwen call your operation? My mom and I called the breaking of the Curse 'Operation Cobra'."

At his stunned silence, the lad looked at him in confusion and then rolled his eyes, asserting confidently, "Of course, Gwen is involved. I knew it was her before I even thought of you."

He raised eyebrow, and Henry obligingly explained his reasoning with a simple if cryptic, "She likes Batman."

At his no doubt bewildered expression, the lad began to explain who this personage was and how Tawny's preference for him mattered. He chattered on about Gotham city, mafia lords, a rich boy who seeks vengeance for murdered parents by dressing up in a black armored bat suit and enforcing justice slightly outside of the law.

"…And although I don't know Gwen's origin story, I think she identifies strongly with his," (_'The lad really had no idea.'_) "Not even the Curse could block that out, 'cause that is when she told me liked him best. So I don't think, if given the opportunity, she could do nothing if she saw the need for something like this, especially since you've been teaching her to fight and all."

While Henry caught his breath and drank his cocoa, Killian stared at the lad who had rendered him speechless – and that is saying something. Finally, he declared with both delight and horror, "You, Henry, are frighteningly perceptive."

Milah's grandson beamed at him. His milk-mustache in no way diminishing his aura of wisdom and perspicacity.

~0~

_Pleasure Island_

_12:20am_

Killian watched appreciatively if impatiently the Triplets' show. They were very similar in form – tall, blond, leggy, and limber, but each had their own style. Paula who favored green outfits was cool, willowy, and sensuous. Laura who shined in glittery gold costumes danced with coquettish abandon, while Claudia was known for her domineering red. The secrets that those three were able to coax out of the men in this town were worth every overpriced drink he bought them on their breaks.

But tonight he was not there to see them. Tonight, he was there to meet Larue to give him the package that the mute Harley had sent him to Haven, Maine for. According to Jefferson's new tech-toy and Tawny's research, it contained some rare plant found only in Asia that was a key ingredient in some experimental hallucinogenic drug. Killian was curious to know what the little toady would need it for, or more accurately _who_ he needed it for, but he couldn't learn that until he showed up. And the obsequious lackey-boy was late.

He finished off the ale he had been nursing and was going to order himself another, when Starkey, known as Pierre Astin here, jerked his head in the direction of the manager's office. The door was slightly ajar and he could see the stumpy fellow and the tall, sinuous woman of the mismatched eyes conversing.

He seized the moment to eavesdrop and made his way to the payphone that was just outside the office, where he pulled out a plastic payment card and started dialing the numbers listed there. It was a handy trick that Tawny had taught him, in which a person looks to be completely absorbed in battling with an unhelpful automated telephone service menu, while in actuality is only pushing random numbers as he listens in on a nearby conversation. Clever lass.

"Yes, Ms. Flo T. Samuels, you can assure your divine mistress that the _flotsam_ that you and your brother _Jet_ found and brought to my venerable employer is being carefully looked after. She is responding well, I am told by Dr. Dante, to the sedatives and is as fit as a fish out of water can be."

"She is being kept hydrated?" Ms. Samuels hissed querulously

"As per her instructions. Below sea-level in a salt water tank," the little man assured. "She will be ready for the Rite of Passage."

"She had better be. It costs my mistress much to hide the Dante's operations from prying eyes."

Larue gave a loud nervous swallow, and then declared, "For which, he is much appreciative, I promise you. Now will there be anything else? I am late for my next appointment."

At this unusually assertive statement, Killian hung up the phone and stalked 'irately' over to the bar, so that he would be appropriately irascible and impatient when Larue finally joined him, and not deliriously gleeful at the conclusion he arrived from that cryptic chat.

He had found the elusive sea nymph.

* * *

**A/N: **So sorry for the delay. I hope it was worth the wait ; )

As always, not mine.

Next Chapter: Marshalling of Forces


	13. Chapter 12: Marshalling of Forces

**Chapter 12:**

**Marshalling of Forces**

_Gwen's apartment_

_1:30am_

"Dante's? She's been at Dante's the whole time? And as a favor for some anti-spy/invisibility spell?"

She didn't really doubt him or find it all that unbelievable. It was just that she was having a hard time processing Killian's middle of the night revelation. She had been sound asleep, when he had shaken her awake. The pirate hadn't even bothered coming in the front door but had come through the fire escape window.

She appreciated his circumspection, but he had scared the be-jesus out of her. And then she had thought he had come to talk to her about what was all over town. But he was all business, and if that was how he wanted to roll, she would go with the flow. No apologies for the mixed metaphors, it was in the middle of the effing night.

"That's what I heard." He confirmed, not noticing that her mind had drifted. "Who is this Dante?"

Rubbing her face in the hopes of getting her synapses sparking, she replied tiredly, "Here, he is the psychiatrist who has been running a private sanitarium of sorts, a clinic for those with mental illness. He's been allegedly helping those who have been suffering with severe addictions, like Jacky Boyd."

Ashley's youngest half-sister had been one of those who had succumbed to depression about being trapped in Storybrooke and who had turned to the poppy to cope. She had probably been introduced to it at one of Dee Dee's parties and been hooked. Ashley had eventually convinced her step-mother that something was wrong and that Jacky needed help, but only after Belle had told Mrs. Boyd that her 'missing' jewelry had come to the pawn shop. Jacky had gone to Dante's rehab center and after two months of treatment had been declared 'better' and well enough to come home but only by the grace of the pharmaceutical industry, it seemed.

As she refilled her cup of tea, she added quietly, "Back in the Forest, I imagine he was Monsieur D'Arque, the owner and manager of the Asylum."

Both of them shuddered at the name. Imagine every horror story ever told about Bedlam, mix it with Grimm-style fairy tales, and that is the Asylum; even Killian who had only been back in the Forest for such a short period of time between Neverland and the Curse had heard of its nasty reputation.

Into their horrified silence, Killian asked, "Do you think he's up to his old ways? And that's why he needs the sea witch's protection?"

She gave this careful consideration before replying. Finally she shook her sleep tussled head and answered, "No, modern mental health has progressed far enough that I don't think he would need to resort to tortuous experimentation…" More confidently, she theorized, "No, I think, he's experimenting with drug cocktails, seeing what will 'cure' people's loved one of addictions to street drugs but make them dependent on his psychopharmaceuticals. That way he and his 'philanthropic' donors, who I imagine are the street drug suppliers, continue to make a tidy profit off his patients once they are 'cured.'"

Killian let out a low whistle, muttering in disturbed awe, "A finger in every piece of the pie."

Ignoring his comment, she continued to muse aloud, "If she – Ariel is being kept below sea level, that means there is or are sublevels like beneath the library. And if that's the case, there will be some record of it or a discrepancy in the records that I might be able to find…and I know a few people who can get access on the inside to get the lay of the land…"

"Who? Wolf-girl?"

This suggestion brought her out of her reverie. Shooting him a nasty look, she declared heatedly, "No! She may be doing better, but in no way would I send her into the Dante's hell-hole while she's still fragile."

Killian quirked an eyebrow, as if to ask 'Well then who?' To which, she suggested, "There's a maid who works there already, Babette. She's smart and observant. And Ginger volunteers as a therapeutic yoga instructor there, and she'd jump at the chance to do reconnaissance work for the Cause."

"In the meantime, do we tell Eric or anybody else what we know?"

"We're going to have to." She admitted with a reluctant sigh. "We need the magic users' help in figuring out what the Rite of Passage is, and I don't see any way of asking without giving an explanation why. Hopefully, they won't go in guns blazing before we do."

Killian nodded in acceptance of this, and then when it became obvious that neither one of them had anything to add, he thanked her for the tea, bid her good night, and then let himself out (via her front door, thank God.)

She stumbled back to bed and tried to block out the growing list of things she had to do come morning – getting bars for her windows being one of them.

~0~

They – Emma, her parents, Eric, or any of the other royals – did not go in 'guns blazing'. Eric took some convincing, but everyone else had kept a cooler head and had seen the wisdom in waiting to find out what Ursula and Maleficent were up to.

Killian had tagged along after Emma when she had gone to Regina to find out what she knew about the mysterious ritual. And he had kept quietly to himself when Baelfire showed up with his father for the sorcery conference.

He hadn't even risen to the bait when the Crocodile had questioned his motives for being there. He had merely said, "I'm here to offer my assistance in rescuing the fair maiden. I have contacts on the inside that may prove useful." Ginger was a student of his, so that was technically true. No need for them to know about Tawny being his middle man.

It was a testament to how far along his relationship with Emma and her parents had come that they hadn't questioned his offer of assistance as well.

The 'Rite of Passage' according to Gold and Regina was the ritual that involved the stripping of an innocent mermaid's voice and harnessing its power to control the gates between worlds that exist in the seas. The Crocodile claimed that he had never attempted it in his quest to find Bae because his Seer sight had shown him that it failed every time he considered it. Regina, lip curling, had snarked that it was because there was 'no such thing as an innocent mermaid', at least not until this Ariel had hatched out of her seashell.

The Crocodile had unfortunately not snapped at her scathing dismissal of his foresight powers. A pity, as Killian would have dearly loved to see the once-Evil Queen squash the now powerless imp. But alas, it was not to be, for the man simply went on to explain the details and requirements of the ritual – new moon night after winter solstice, a fiery altar, the wings of a fairy, the spirit of a Halfling, the voice of a long imprisoned innocent mermaid, and then her blood and scales as well as a piece of the caster.

Everyone groaned at this. Madame Superior had only just reported that week that one of her sisters had been accosted by Maleficent and had her wings torn from her before being dumped on the church's front steps, and it was well-known that Ruby (half-human, half-wolf) had been spiritless ever since her enslavement. Their only hope for stopping the witches was to rescue Ariel from Dante's before the moon fully waned in five days.

"Ah, but you are not seeing the silver lining in all of this."

Everyone shot Regina dubious looks at this surprisingly optimistic remark. Her smirk had that evilly eager and exultant quality to it, like she was just short of rubbing her hands together and cackling with wicked delight. With dramatic condescension, she explained, "It takes a full lunar cycle, culminating at the new moon, and a great deal of power to do this invocation. They will be at their weakest as the moon wanes."

Emma immediately turned to him, asking, "Can your contacts get you the information we need to bust her out of there before then?"

"Why bother trying to break into there? They'll bring her to them. We can grab her then and avoid tipping them off that we are on to them," Regina argued.

Over Eric's protests, Emma countered reasonably, "Because if we fail, Ariel pays the price. This way, if we don't completely stop them, she's safe and they will be unable to complete the spell, and we can fight them another day."

"To avoid the tipping off part, we can split up and do simultaneous attacks," David suggested.

Ever the one to rain on everyone else's parade, Regina pointed out, "And where will be the second attack? Do we even know where those two are at?"

The reformed Crocodile continued to be irksomely helpful, declaring, "They'll be near the altar, which – " he hastened to add, leaning on his cane, before her majesty could interrupt, "is where all the dark magic will be emanating from. The fairies will be able to pinpoint that, accurately enough, as they can sense it like a…disturbance in the Force."

Regina and he seemed to be the only ones not amused by that last reference – Regina, because she hated to be beholden to the fairies except for Tinkerbell, and he, because he simply didn't get it. He would have to have Tawny explain it to him when he related all of this to her.

Finally, he answered Emma's earlier question, "Yes, lass, I think they can find what we need for this little sortie. I'll get back to you tomorrow."

After that, it wasn't long before they all went their separate ways.

It was when Emma waved farewell to him that he saw it – a glint of sunlight reflecting off a bauble of shiny on her left ring finger.

She was gone before he could ask her or Baelfire any of the dozen questions that immediately flooded his mind, and all that he had left were the ones for himself.

How had he not seen it earlier? How long had she been wearing it? Was it too early to hit his stock of rum? Did he have _enough_ rum? Did Tawny know? Why had no one said anything to him, especially _her_?

No idea. No idea. It's never too early. Probably not. _Of course, she did_. She was bloody Gwen the all-knowing maid after all. And no idea, but he would ask the ungrateful wench as soon as he knew which one he was the most furious at – the blushing bride-to-be or the shameless secret-keeper.

~0~

_The Trailer_

_Two days later…_

She and Fitz were pouring over security diagrams, blue prints, and handwritten layouts and guard rotations as provided by Babette and Ginger, when Killian deigned to join them.

He had been rather moody lately and smelling stronger than usual of rum. Considering the circumstances, this was understandable. It was just – She just – missed him. He was so distant and _surly_. She wanted to talk to him, to wheedle him out of his foul mood like he had done for her so many times before, but she wasn't sure how to. She had made several attempts, but all had been vehemently rebuffed. Any silent physical attempts at comfort – a squeezing of the hand, pat to the shoulder – had all been coolly dodged.

She could take a hint. Message received. He wished to lick his wounds in solitude. She just missed the emotional connection that they had seemed to be developing these past few months.

Before she could get too maudlin, Killian interrupted her private pity-party with: "Swan says that they have a plan in place, and are just waiting on us. So any luck?"

This was addressed to Fitz with his arms crossed and his flinty gaze entirely focused on the former thief. This all business stuff sucked.

Fitz, who was absorbed in his task, absentmindedly replied, "Oh yes, I can get past this system, no problem, once I'm in."

"And Ginger can get us in, relatively easily," she assured, adding sardonically, "It's the getting out that will be an issue. After all, it's a locked-down psych facility."

When he didn't seem to appreciate her wit, she continued, "But, fortunately, there is a storm drain that runs beneath the building and out into the river. And according to Babette, all the drain covers are conveniently man-sized. So the general gist of our plan is to get in, find Ariel, grab her, exit via storm drain, and sail away under the cover of darkness in one of your dingies that we have waiting at the mouth of the drain."

Killian stood there gazing at a spot over her shoulder as he considered her plan, and while he did so, she tried not to fidget and cursed her need for his approval, her need to be called 'his clever lass.'

Finally, he stated, "Not a bad idea. The only problem I see is that your exit strategy relies on my dingy being unseen, which is impossible even on a moonless night. The dock lights all around my ship will prevent sneaking away for any sort of clandestine activities."

"So we have you sail the _Roger_ away from the dock earlier that day to a point where no one can witness what we're up to," was Fitz's helpful suggestion.

"But for what reason would Killian do that?" She mused aloud. "That won't arouse suspicion?"

They all seemed momentarily stumped by this as the good captain hadn't sailed his ship beyond the bay since the Great Pooch Escape and no one had really believed any of the excuses he had given at the time. But then, the man in question suggested bitterly, "Perhaps, it is because I need a reprieve from a certain couple's upcoming nuptial bliss."

The full force of his gaze was upon her, and she could see all of his pain and anger swirling in the depths of his eyes. She wanted to comfort her friend, but at the moment, it looked as if he would reject any such overtures, so she merely said, "Well, that would work."

"So you knew?" He accused her. "How long have you known _exactly_?"

His hostility towards her was so out of the blue, or maybe it had been there all along and she had misinterpreted it, that she could only sit there gaping like a fish before finally finding her voice. "I knew the day after," she replied softly.

"And you said _nothing_ to me? Just let me walk around like an ignorant fool while the whole town pitied me?" His arms had uncrossed at this point so that he could wave his hook theatrically about. Jabbing it towards her, he declared, "I had to find out, _not from my partner_, but from seeing her blighted ring."

"I thought you knew! I thought Henry had told you," she defended, trying not to let her hurt from his believing that she would intentionally do something like that to him, her partner, turn into anger. But it was very _very_ hard to do. "You weren't talking about it, so I was going to let sleeping bears lie. I was following your lead, you – you blockheaded buffoon!"

"Emma probably told Henry not to mention it to you so that she could tell you in person, but when this month's crisis of impending doom happened, it slipped her mind," was Fitz's unsolicited contribution.

They glared at him in unison, causing him to hold up his hands in a "don't shoot" gesture before busying himself with organizing their papers.

Fitz's interjection had been uninvited but helpful, because Killian's tense posture relaxed as he let out a sigh and rubbed his face before he looked at her with apologetic chagrin, "I'm sorry, Tawny-lass. I've been a right arse these past few days, haven't I?"

"Yes, you have. Normally, I would have called you on it by now, but I believe it is bad form to kick a man while he is down," she primly replied.

A slow grin spread across his scruffier than normal face, as he drawled, "And that is why you'll never make a good pirate – too much Camelot-chivalry running through your veins, love."

Again, she was rendered speechless. Part of her was insulted that he didn't think she had it in her to be a pirate. Part of her was peeved that he would say anything about Camelot or accuse her of being anything like those noble dickheads. Part of her was pleased that the morals she had grown up with and had once upon a time believed in were still her guiding compass _and_ that he had noticed.

At Fitz's hesitant clearing of his throat, she recovered the use of her tongue to retort, "Challenge accepted," and then to the room at large, "I think we have a plan."

Fitz nodded in agreement, and Killian murmured, "Aye, we do."

~0~

_The Pier_

_The morning of New Moon Eve…_

"You're going to be late." Killian said in that way people do when they are indirectly trying to tell someone goodbye.

The night before we had scouted out the storm drain. They had been able to reach both the river and the rehab center's lower rooms. The mission was a go for tonight, so Killian was doing his grand pirate diva exit. Or he was supposed to. He was supposed to be telling his star pupil goodbye, and she, Tawny, was to look as if she was begging him to stay. But he seemed oddly reluctant to play out his part and she was worried that if she didn't stand there to see him sail away he would never leave.

"Well then, you had better get a move on then," she asserted pointedly.

He stared at her. She stared back. And amazingly enough, he broke first, sighing heavily as he glanced towards the lightening horizon.

"Why don't you want to go?" When he didn't answer her concerned query, she prodded him with dry humor, asking, "Is it a manly pirate thing?"

That got a reaction out of him. He turned to gaze at her quizzically, his eyebrow arched in that annoying manner of his and his mouth twitching with amusement, "'Manly pirate thing'?"

"Yes, manly pirate thing," she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Ya know, not wanting to sail away with everyone thinking you are an emotionally wounded dog gone to lick his wounds."

He snorted, "Since when have I cared what these people think of me, lass?" He had a point. "No, Tawny-love, it's not the leaving that I am reluctant to do."

"Then what?"

He squared off with her again and crossed his arms, declaring with a low growl, "I don't like my partner raiding the enemy's territory without me to watch her back."

"Oh."

Yep. 'Oh'. That was all that she could manage to articulate. At first, the girlish Camelot part of her was warmed by this revelation, causing her stomach to feel all funny and stuff. But then her independent streak rose up bringing with it a wave of more than mild irritation.

"How sentimental of you," that part of her drolly noted. Poking him in the chest, she hissed back, "But in case you haven't noticed, sensei, I can take care of myself _and _this isn't the first time I've tricked my way into enemy territory. Moreover, this time, I won't be there for weeks and the enemy isn't an evil sorceress queen, not to mention that all the wicked witches will be kept occupied elsewhere."

While he absorbed the truth of her statement, the girlish part of her reveled in the fact that while Emma Swan was facing off with said evil witches, Killian was worried about _her_.

"All very valid points, lass." He grudgingly acknowledged.

"But…?"

"But nothing. Despite my 'sentimentality'," his lips curled in disgust at the word, "I'm going to stick to the plan." Gesturing with his hook at her, he charged, "You had just better remember and employ every dirty pirate trick I taught you, kitten."

"Aye, aye, Captain," she replied without a hint of mockery, despite the fact that he had used the irksome nickname.

His gaze flicked back to his ship, to its – her – sails, and then out over the water before he said, "The tide is going out, and so must I."

She refrained from rolling her eyes and quipping 'No shit' or even more childishly an I-told-you-so 'Duh'. Instead, she simply nodded.

With an ostentatious bow, like the one he had given the three trappers when they had first met, he said, "Farewell, lass," and then he was ascending the gangplank to the _Roger_.

When he gave the signal, she untied the line and watched as the ship slipped smoothly from the pier, glided out into the bay, and then out of sight as he headed out to the World Beyond.

He had left Storybrooke before. A few times by 'borrowed' car to sell his gold or by foot to pick up Larue's packages, but he had always had the _Jolly Roger_ to bring him back, or a pack of puppies and their wolf-mother to rid himself of. She shouldn't have this twisting knot in her stomach. She shouldn't be flashing back to _then_.

But she did. How bloody sentimental.

Sighing, she squared her shoulders. She had work to do. She had to keep up the charade that it was business as usual, and after all this was done, she would still have bills to pay. She also needed to remind Jefferson to be on the lookout tonight. If something went wrong, she needed someone to let the cavalry know.

If there was any cavalry left. Ursula and Maleficent, or any other wicked witch for that matter, weren't known for their mercy.

~ **E *** **N** * **C** * **H** * **A** * **N** * **T** * **E** * **D ~ F** * **O * R * E * S * T ~**

_~Regina's Castle~_

From her vantage point, a vantage point spitefully provided by Her, she could see his ship was sailing away, vanishing over the horizon. It shouldn't bother her. She had only known Jones for three weeks. She shouldn't feel abandoned. They had each fulfilled their end of the bargain. Their business was done. It shouldn't …

But it did.

And like the predator, she was, the Queen pounced upon her weakness.

"Do you see that? He's gone. Without a backward glance. Without asking after you. Asking _for _you," the exiled sorceress hissed into her ears as she circled her, a sneer curling her lips. "He _used_ you, and then he left you. To face me – _alone_."

She was alone. But since when was she a stranger to loneliness?

* * *

**A/N: **Next chapter - _Operation: Poach and Release_, and as always, not mine

_Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Concerns?_


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